


Willow River: Day One

by istie, Lostboys143, planetlostinspace, ricky_goldsworth, sessrumnir, shareyoursunshines, WitchBoyWriter



Series: Willow River [1]
Category: Buzzfeed The Try Guys (Web Series), Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series), Original Work
Genre: Adoptive Parents - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Angst, Buzzfeed Unsolved Cinematic Universe - Freeform, Collaborative fic, Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, Monster of the Week, Supernatural Elements, monster hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostboys143/pseuds/Lostboys143, https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetlostinspace/pseuds/planetlostinspace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricky_goldsworth/pseuds/ricky_goldsworth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sessrumnir/pseuds/sessrumnir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shareyoursunshines/pseuds/shareyoursunshines, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchBoyWriter/pseuds/WitchBoyWriter
Summary: There's a tiny town in British Columbia where strange things happen, and strange people meet.  Sometimes they hunt monsters, to keep the town safe, but some of them may be monsters themselves.  Join an intrepid group of adventurers as they seek answers to Willow River's many mysteries, and find friendship and family along the way - along with healthy doses of angst, because there's no good story without angst.





	1. Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

> Since March of 2018, myself and six friends have been playing an online Monster of the Week campaign, with myself as Keeper (or dungeon master, if you prefer). It has evolved into two months of intense emotional journey, and we're having so much fun that we thought we should share it with you.
> 
> Basic credits: story and narration by me, characters' backstories and actions by their respective players...
> 
> The main cast is, in alphabetical order by last name:  
> Owen Atwin, played by @WitchBoyWriter;  
> Chen Xiaolian, played by @Lostboys143;  
> James Finn, played by @planetlostinspace;  
> Mikaere Jones, played by @ghoul_ish;  
> Roan Morris, played by @girlwiththebooks;  
> Cassandra Wojtek, played by @sessrumnir;  
> something like two dozen NPCs, played by @istie,  
> and the narrator, also played by @istie.
> 
> I have edited our transcripts down into novel format: most times a character is speaking or acting, they are being played by their player - only in montages or scene descriptions do I, as Keeper, have control. I have also edited out our rolls, as Monster of the Week is a dice-based game: you only see the narrative results. 
> 
> We hope you enjoy reading as much as we have enjoyed playing so far!

The room is an empty black space. There is a light coming from above, but there is no visible source. It is casting a wide circle on the floor, which is also black, and scuffed, like a theater floor. There are people around the circle, but far enough in the shadows that they cannot be seen.

It is silent for several moments, before the sharp footsteps of a solidly heeled dress shoe ring out. A tall, lanky person in a long beige duster, a matching fedora, and dark brown Italian dress shoes walks into the center of the circle. They stop, take their hands out of the pockets of the duster, and turn once around the circle. It is a woman, rather sharp of feature: a large aquiline nose and a jawline to match, deep-set eyes and thick eyebrows. Her hair is cropped short, but the colour is not visible, because what isn't under the hat is in the shadow of its brim.

She smiles, and it's warm in an ironic sort of way. She speaks, and her voice is soft, low-pitched, and strikes you as dangerous. "Hello. My name is Cecilia Tinsley, and I suspect you will all get to know me rather well soon enough. I'm here to get this party started. I live in Willow River, and have for just over a year and a half. I'm a private eye by trade, but my day job is running a little newspaper that circulates in Willow River, Giscome, and even a few places in Prince George. I'm the gal you talk to when you want to know what's _really_ going on. Before I moved here, I lived in Vancouver, but ... well, the rent was too damn high, and my partner ... " She pulls the brim of her hat down. "My partner and I split." She pauses for a moment, then looks back up and around the circle. "Who'd like to introduce themselves next?"  She steps back into the shadows.

A petite Asian gal steps forward. She’s about 5’5”, with shoulder-length black hair and kind, dark brown eyes. There's a small mischievous smile playing on her face, but her fidgeting feet betray her nervousness. She gives a small wave before quickly shoving her hand back into the pocket of her hoodie. She can already feel her face start to go red with embarrassment. “Uh, hi! I’m Chen Xiaolian. But you can call me Lillian if that’s easier for you guys. Or girls!” She rushes to correct herself. “Or whatever! I don’t judge!” She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. “I guess some things to know about me are that I’ve grown up in Willow River, I’m 18, I like dogs and jokes, and I hate assholes and bugs. Um, I can bake so if anyone wants cookies, I’m your gal.” She chuckles nervously. She lets her next sentence comes out in one rushed breath. “ _Also I have this super cool sword and magic powers that make my eyes glow gold and a spirit dragon but whatever ya know?_ ”

A man of roughly average height steps into the light, across from the girl. He has dark brown skin and brown eyes. He is wearing a dark fedora - Indiana Jones style - that covers most of his black hair. His face is very kind, but his eyes hold a deep-seated suspicion and distrust. All that is visible of his outfit is a dark trench coat, the color matching his fedora. He eyes where Cecilia disappeared into the shadows, then where Xiaolian stands, and finally his gaze flicks to where he can feel the presence of other people. He clears his throat and begins speaking. "My name is James Finn. I travel the world to continue my fam- my duty to document the legends and monsters of this world. I go from city to city, usually small towns, and research their myths. I record all my findings and have filled several books worth of valuable information. During my trips, I advise any hunters I come across with how to best deal with the monsters that infest their area." James pauses, then says, "I guess we are explaining our weapons as well."

He reaches behind his head, pushing back the collar of his coat to reveal an intricate handle. He grabs it and pulls a yard-long iron sword from its sheath. "This is a kaskara, forged in the country of Chad in the 16th century." He holds the blade in the light for a minute, showing the designs incorporated into the handle and double-edged blade. He returns the sword to its position before continuing. "I also use a 357 Magnum with a six-inch barrel." He pulls the silver gun, with the safety on, from his side holster with one hand. "And a blessed knife." He holds up the knife, usually hidden in a secret pocket of his trench coat. After a moment, he returns the weapons to their places, and puts both of his hands into his pockets. His stance is relaxed but his eyes are darting around the dark space, awaiting the next speaker.

Xiaolian’s eyes widen at the sword. “Oh wow, that is so cool!” She tugs the strap wrapped around her chest off, holding the sheath containing a sword with a deep blue and gold handle towards James. “We can be sword buddies!”

James eyes the excitable girl wielding a dangerous weapon. It has been a long time since he has seen such open excitement and joy. "Sword... buddies." He nods and sighs, not trying to crush the girl's spirit. He smiles awkwardly at her. "Sure."

"Well, now I feel underdressed," a voice to the left of the girl says. A woman in her late 20s steps into the light. Average height, combat boots, a navy-blue button-up shirt. She is average in more ways than one, and the only two things that stand out, especially under the bright lights, are her hair - long, tamed into a single braid, the color of rust - and her freckles, all over her cheeks. She takes something from the front pocket of her jeans, and flicks open a pocket knife. "Really, _really_ underdressed."

She smiles, and with a flick of her wrist the knife is in her pocket again.  "I'm Cassandra. Cassandra Wojtek. This is my second time in Willow River. The first time was in December, when this place was buzzing with tourists and reporters. I'm a sociologist and a researcher currently based in Vancouver, where I'm doing my PhD. I'm interested in how the people of Willow River and those passing through town react to the... _events_ unfolding here. Not gonna lie, after what I've heard from witnesses here in December, I'd love to see something for myself, too," she grins, but her smile falters when she says, "But I know what that entails. I know the risks. I've been studying the world through books long enough. About time I put myself out there, I should say."  And with that, she nods towards the other two and takes a step back until she's in the shadows again, her shape barely discernible beyond the circle of light.

The last thing Owen wants to do is step forward in front of a room full of humans with blades drawn. Especially when one was an apparent expert on 'monsters', which would include him. But he had no idea what would happen if he _didn't_ introduce himself, either. He hesitantly steps forward just enough to be seen, the shadows of the room making his already hollow face look even more gaunt. He lets his dark hair fall in his face, hoping the less of him was visible, the more alive he would look. His voice is soft, and a bit raspy. He doesn't even _remember_ the last time he had to speak with someone. "...I'm Owen. I... don't have a sword or a knife or anything." It wasn't the most eloquent thing he could have said, but he leaves it at that, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Mikaere steps forward, eyes down, scuffing the floor with their shoe. They're of average height, skinny, and wearing torn-up jeans and a sweater a couple sizes too big. They glance around the circle from behind the shoulder-length, greasy black hair that spills from the ragged grey beanie on their head, then tuck it behind their ear, revealing an intricate tattoo that curls down from their mouth and around their chin.  "I'm, uh, I'm Mikaere. Mikey for short." They speak with a mish-mash Polynesian accent that gets stronger the faster they're talking: "I dunno what this is about but I was just on break at the store and I swear I didn't fall asleep, and this, this feels pretty real, so if anyone knows what the hell's goin' on I wanna hear it."  They take a half-step back, then pause. "Also I guess if we're doing this, I've got, um. I've got my dad's shotgun in the back of the ute, but that's for emergencies. And also he doesn't know. So probably keep that one on the down low."

Roan joins the rest of the room in stepping into the light. Their short, turquoise pixie cut glows under the light. They shiver slightly, feeling cold in just a black and white plaid shirt, jeans, and beat up vans. They give an almost shy smile before speaking. "I'm Roan. I'm mostly here for the aliens. I'm taking a year out of college to drive about the continent in a beat-up minivan and visit various hotspots for weird activity." They smile again, hoping their half-truth comes across well. "And if we're doing weapons, I have a revolver in the van. It's....a family heirloom. Oh! And I have a big knife." They bounce slightly on the balls of their feet, betraying their nervousness, before forcing themselves to still, hands shoved in the pockets of their jeans, eyes flicking to everyone else in the circle.

The light overhead widens, showing everyone in the room. Cecilia opens her arms to get everyone’s attention; she then puts her hands back in her pockets once she is satisfied everyone is looking at her.  "Welcome to Willow River. I hope you enjoy your stay." She pulls one hand out of a pocket and flicks a lighter on. "One aspect of the world we have not discussed is that of _magic_." She extinguishes the lighter and looks around the circle. "Magic is just as real as monsters are. Some of you may already know that, and some of you may suspect it. That being said ... magic is _not_ accepted. The terror that led to witch burnings? Still strongly ingrained in the hearts and minds of the general populace."

She puts the lighter back in her pocket. "Be careful. This is not a friendly world. There is so much fear, and so much distrust. Use your brains above all, your magic cautiously, and your weapons even more so. Life is fragile here, and it is not easy - nor, frequently, wise - to play at being gods. You are here to solve mysteries. You may or may _not_ be here to save the world ... but you are certainly here to change it."

The light is suddenly extinguished, and everyone is plunged into darkness. In that darkness, the voice of Cecilia Tinsley rings out one last time: "Good luck."


	2. Morning - I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this chapter contains a brief description of gore; it is also marked within the chapter text.

Welcome to Willow River, British Columbia. The date is April 2nd, 2020. Willow River, a tiny little town nestled in the forested foothills of the Rocky Mountains, was, only two years ago, a community of a hundred and fifty people. It is now home to _two_ hundred and fifty people.

Why the increase? The burgeoning UFO hotspots in the nearby provincial parks. In November 2019, a string of sightings lit up international news, and overnight, Willow River became a tourist destination like no other. Lights in the sky, purported abductions, incidents of missing time - the whole nine yards. While the Canadian Armed Forces released official reports of test flights in the area, and the British Columbian government admitted to unapproved radiation testing, dozens of residents still stick to their stories.

Willow River used to be comprised of a general store/post office, volunteer fire department, church, and community hall - now it also has a bed and breakfast, two small cafés, a used bookstore, an RV park and attached campground, and the Willow River Paranormal Information Centre, which has a devout following online.

The media attention has died down, but ufologists across the globe insist that _something happened_ in Willow River. And on the online conspiracy boards, many folks insist that something is going to happen _again_ \- and **_soon._**

* * *

Owen wakes up, blearily. His eyes adjust to the darkness quickly, and he can see the outlines of trees around him, but his back still hurts like hell and he is _cold_. He fell asleep in the mid-afternoon, when it was warmest, but it is now black as can be. He squints up at what he can see of the sky through the trees, and finds the moon ... from its position, he guesses it's about 2.30 am.  He's not sure what woke him. After a few moments of silence, he hears a twig snap a ways off in the trees, and he feels a deep sense of dread settle into his gut. Something is not right.

Owen gets to his feet quickly looking towards the direction of the sound, taking a split second to decide whether to run.

He chooses to run, not bothering to keep quiet, away from the sound. After what seems like an eternity, but is in reality not very long at all, he feels exhausted, and has to slow to a walk. He sees lights through the trees.  He has reached the edge of the RV park and campground on the skirts of Willow River. He stops to see if it still sounds like something is nearby, or following him.

He waits, and listens. Even though he can't run for long, he's pretty fast, and he covered some good ground. It isn't immediately apparent whether anything is nearby ... the sound of the generators humming in the RV park is enough to conceal anything but very close sounds, of which there are none.

As he catches his breath, leaning against a tree, he _thinks_ he hears another twig snap. Hard to tell, really, but it _is_ back from the direction he came from.  Instead of running further into the RV park, Owen hides behind a tree. As Owen waits, it starts to become quite clear that whatever woke him up is still out there: he can hear slow movement in the forest, like something is walking in the dead leaves. With the lights from the RV park behind him, streaming into the forest, he can just barely see a silhouette moving in amongst the tree trunks: something human-shaped, but moving far too slowly...straight towards him.

Owen bites his lip and watches the silhouette. It's moving _very_ slowly ... he feels like he might be able to outrun it, or maybe if he climbed a tree it might not be able to follow.  Owen gets back to his feet, sprinting away, making sure not to travel into the actual RV park, staying in the forest around.

Owen runs for what feels like forever, skirting the town, stopping to rest only when he has to and then heading out again. When he truly feels like he can't run anymore, he stops, and waits. After a few minutes, he hears nothing at all. It seems like maybe he's lost whatever it was. He's run considerably deeper into the woods, into a part that's mostly fir and pine trees, and the forest floor is almost cushion-like, thick with pine needles. It feels a little warmer, too, this deep in the woods.  He feels safe, for now, and so he finds a spot nestled at the base of a big fir tree and stops to catch his breath properly.

* * *

Cassandra wakes up to a sharp knocking on the door of her RV. She is instantly awake, and looks at the clock beside her bed: 4.47 am. There is the tiniest amount of grey pre-dawn light creeping in through the blinds of the camper van.

She sits up instantly and waits to see if they’ll insist or say something, trying to be as quiet as possible.

There is a pause of a few moments, then another knock, and a familiar female voice: "Ms Wojtek? I'm sorry to bother you so early but I really gotta talk to you." It's the owner of the RV park.

Cassandra sighs, then gets up. She peeks through the blinds first before going for the door.

Through the blinds, Cassandra sees the figure of Francesca Norris, the owner of the RV park: a few inches taller than your average dame, but three times more built - she's wearing her regular hiking boots, rough-wash blue jeans and grey t-shirt, an open red plaid flannel and bright orange tuque the only acknowledgements she makes of the morning chill. Her face is square and her jaw strong, and short, messy brown curls peek out from under the edges of the tuque, framing her dark brown face.

Cassandra runs a hand through her hair to look less like a paranoid weirdo and opens the door, “Everything alright, Ms Norris?”

Francesca tries to smile as Cassandra opens the door. "Ah - mornin', Ms Wojtek. I'm afraid not. There's been some sort of animal attack. Holly called the Mounties as soon as we found out, and they're on their way, but they said to get everyone together and further into town in case whatever it is is still hangin' around."

 “An animal attack?” Cassandra hesitates. “I—Wow, so many questions. Okay. Uh. Lemme put my boots on, I’ll be out in a sec.” She goes to close the door, but then pauses and looks back at Francesca. “Did anyone get hurt?”

Francesca sighs gently and looks down, scuffing the dirt with the toe of her boot. "Well, they aren't hurtin' anymore."

 “Oh.” _Well, shit_. Cassandra excuses herself to put on her vest, a coat, and grab a couple of things. She then steps out again.

Francesca, who appears to have been staring off at the treeline while Cassandra was grabbing her coat, looks over at her as she exits the van. "Yeah. Not a pretty sight. Banjo found her over on the east side when he was goin' for his mornin' jog."

She shakes her head. "Like I said, Mounties'll be here soon. Lucky there's only a few of you hangin' here in the off-season. I'm gonna go see if I can rouse Roan. I called up the M 'n' D, Adam's up and makin' cinnamon buns already so if you wanna head down there and get an early breakfast I'll pay your tab. Mounties'll probably wanna ask you whether you heard anythin' in the night."

She turns and makes to head off into the park, then looks back at Cassandra over her shoulder. "Sorry again for the rude awakening. See you later, Ms Wojtek." She walks away.

Cassandra waits until Francesca is out of sight to glance towards the treeline, having noticed her looking in that direction. She hesitates but for a moment before she heads for the treeline.

Cassandra reaches the treeline on the east side of the park without incident. The body is ... fairly obvious.

Cassandra approaches the body but tries to step lightly, avoiding anything that might be on the ground. She crouches down to look at the wounds, and at the general disposition of the body, too (position, the ground around them, if there’s any pool of blood). 

_ [Content warning: gore.] _

As Cassandra approaches, she sees a sight that would turn the stomach of most folks. There is the body of a woman on the ground: she is missing part of her right leg, her entire right arm, and chunks are missing from her torso and shoulders - also, most of her face is gone. There is blood on the ground, though it has soaked in or frozen. The body appears to have been rolled around a bit, but not moved. She is still entirely clothed.

_ [Content complete.] _

Cassandra gets the feeling that the sort of creature that did this, whatever it was, was _hungry_. It reminds her of bad B-movie zombie flicks.

 “Mm hmm. Animal attack, my ass,” Cassandra mutters to herself, then takes out her phone from her coat pocket and snaps a few pictures. She stands up, looking around to see if the coast is clear, then takes off, heading towards town.

* * *

Roan wakes up slowly to grey light and eyelids that don't quite want to open. They're not quite sure what woke them, until another gentle knock taps at their door, followed by a soft, familiar voice. "Roan?"

Roan groans and rolls herself out of bed, padding on socked feet over the door, pulling it open. "What's up?"

In front of Roan stands a petite, curvy lady with olive skin and a long dark-brown ponytail: she's wearing a thick winter jacket, dark jeans, and boots. This is Holly Albarak, the co-owner of the RV park and Francesca's partner. "Ah, Roan, good morning," she says, a little awkwardly. "Well, there's been an incident, and the RCMP are on their way, and they've asked us to gather everyone in the park and get them further into town."

Roan immediately jolts to alertness, though she tries to hide it. "What kind of incident? What happened?"

Holly bites her lip. "Some sort of animal attack. Banjo found the poor girl this morning while he was out running."

"Oh god." Roan pauses, wondering how far she can take this. "Was it close to the park? Is that why they want us to move?"

"It was on the edge of the park, yeah." She shakes her head.  "Anyway, I think Francesca called the cafe...if they're up and open we'll spot you breakfast. The Mounties will be here soon and they're going to want to ask you whether you heard anything in the night."

"I'm going to meet up with Francesca and make sure the park's clear. See you later, Roan." Holly turns, heads out, and waves over her shoulder.

Roan sighs, annoyed at the lack of information. She decides to cut her losses. Closing the door behind her, she changes into normal clothes, planning to head to the cafe. Without information, she might as well get food.

* * *

It's shortly after nine in the morning, and Xiaolian is headed to her favourite Willow River haunt - besides the bookstore, of course. She pushes open the door to the coffee shop, and drinks in the heady scent of freshly ground coffee and piping hot cinnamon buns slathered in white icing. The little bell chimes over her head, and she takes in the familiar sights: the weathered wood panelling and beige brick of the walls, interrupted by filled bookshelves and chalkboards detailing the day's menu; the comfy worn leather armchairs in the corner, the gorgeous wrought-iron stools and chairs at the wicker-topped tables and the single-piece polished-wood bar; the simple yet stunning yi xing tea sets in the cabinets behind the bar, and the everyday earthenware tea sets ready to be used. The whole place exudes the feeling of the ancient and the modern, with the subtle hints of Malaysian decor the best clue to who owns this place - the young entrepreneur of the bed-and-breakfast that occupies most of the building.

There are a couple of other people in the coffee shop, but Xiaolian's attention is drawn first to the man behind the counter: a soft-looking man in his mid-twenties, sporting reddish hair and a beard (both tucked into nets) is kneading dough. He's wearing entirely white, apart from his dark-rimmed glasses, and his sleeves are rolled up past his elbows - and he is quite covered in flour. He looks up at the chime from the bell, and smiles at Xiaolian.

Xiaolian gives him a smile and dabs quickly as a greeting. She hopes no one else saw that.

The man behind the counter huffs a laugh, then lifts a hand from the dough and waves. "Hi, Xiaolian." His voice is just as soft as the rest of him. "Welcome to the Monstrous and the Divine. Want your usual?"

“Yes please!” Xiaolian walks behind the counter and puts the money owed in the cash register. She looks around and takes in the familiar setting, feeling content with it all.

She sees five people in the café: Francesca and Holly, having coffee together in a corner - which is odd, they're not usually _both_ here in the morning, usually one of them is back at the RV park – as well as: Steven, the owner, a slim Asian man with short silver hair, sitting at a table with papers spread out across it and a pen between his teeth; a _very_ petite woman curled up on the plush window seat, her tight bunched pink curls bouncing as she scribbles in a sketchbook; and finally, one more person, sitting in one of the armchairs with a book open on their lap, their bright turquoise pixie cut gleaming.

Suddenly, there is a gentle baritone voice at her shoulder, and a plate with a steaming hot morning bun slides across the counter at her elbow, accompanied by a latte with a perfect dragon sketched in the foam. "Busy this morning," Andrew says, joining her in looking at the patrons. As usual, he's silent as the grave, his eyes are piercing, and his sharp jawline is ever so slightly softened by stubble.

Xiaolian hums in agreement. She rips a piece off the bun and pops it into her mouth – for approximately half a second. “Hot, hot, hot, hot!” She quickly swallows it down before muttering to herself, “every single morning...” She looks up at Andrew. “Yeah, what’s the deal? Not that I mind, it’ll be good for business, but it’s usually never this packed.”

Xiaolian, used to Andrew's expressions, catches the tiny half-smirk that tweaks at his lips as she burns herself on the bun. Just as quickly, though, he's back to business, and actually frowns a little. "I didn't catch all the details - I was in the back, prepping sandwich filling for lunch - but it sounds like Banjo found a body outside the RV park early this morning." He sighs, imperceptibly. "Mounties were in earlier, taking statements."

Xiaolian sets down the piece she had just picked up, she wasn’t feeling too hungry anymore. Subconsciously, she shifted closer to the older man and desperately wished Bolin was next to her. “A body? Oh jeez, that’s um...that’s crazy.”

"Yeah." He shook his head again. "I know we're close to highway sixteen and all, but ... never been this close, you know?" He absentmindedly picks up the piece of bun and pops it in his mouth. "Anyway. I better get back to work. Your brother's in the b'n'b side, holding down the reception desk while Steven does accounts. You here for the time being if we need a hand?"

Xiaolian snickers at Andrew’s casual stealing from her plate. “Yeah, I’m good for whatever you need me to do. Just holla atcha girl.”

Andrew nods. "Thanks." He disappears into the kitchen.

Xiaolian notices that, while she and Andrew were talking, one of the patrons has left - the turquoise-haired person. She grabs an apron and pulls it over her head. Tying it around her waist, she grabs the coffee pot and decides to do her rounds.

Adam catches her eye and nods, a tacit "yep, definitely time to top up". He finishes kneading the dough, and rolls it into a mixing bowl, covering it with a dishtowel and sliding it into the warming chamber.

Xiaolian murmurs a quick “dough boi” as she passes him. Looking around, she tries to spot who’s the most in need of coffee and, maybe, who feels like spilling the tea.

Steven's cup is completely empty; Francesca's is half-full, but Holly's barely looks touched. The curly-haired woman in the windowsill has one of the fancy tea-sets by her; Xiaolian knows that that would require a refill of just hot water, if she's out, but she can't tell by looking from here.

Xiaolian stops by Steven first, filling his cup and saying a quick hello before letting him get back to work. She goes over to Holly and Francesca next. “You want some more, Francesca?”

Steven mutters a "hi Xiaolian, thanks" as she fills his cup, and immediately picks it up and drains half of it in a gulp. Upon hearing her speak, Francesca looks up at Xiaolian, smiles, and says, "Sure, thanks." She's holding Holly's hand; they're sitting next to each other, and Holly's staring at her cup.

Xiaolian fills the cup, and goes to move on but hesitates. She bites her lip and looks back at Holly. She doesn’t really know what to do, but Holly doesn’t look so hot and that’s not right. “Um....I know you guys probably don’t want to be bothered, but are you guys okay?”

Francesca squeezes Holly's hand gently, and sips her coffee. "Holly's just a li'l shaken up. She'll be okay."

Holly sighs, deeply, and drops her head to her chest. "Dead bodies really aren't fun to look at."

“I’ll bet,” Xiaolian sighs. She really wishes she knew what to do. “I know you’re probably not that hungry right now, and it won’t do much to cheer you up, but how about a pastry, any kind, on me?”

As if by magic, between Francesca opening her mouth to respond and the actual words occurring, Adam appears beside Xiaolian, and slides a plate of heavenly smelling crepes onto the table. He smiles, hands still covered in flour, and says, "Took the words right out of my mouth. Classic lemon sugar crepes - I know they're Holly's favourite. We'll get through this."

The tension in Holly's shoulders relaxes slightly, and she smiles faintly. "Thanks, Adam. That's really kind of you."

Adam turns to Xiaolian and smiles. "Good thinking. Anyone who comes in here today gets a pastry on the house. Steven's orders." Out of the corner of her eye, Xiaolian sees Steven flash them a thumbs-up.

Xiaolian practically melts in relief. Adam was so much better at comforting people than she was. “God bless Steven,” she projects just enough to ensure Steven hears. Deciding that her job was done here, she finally made her way over to the lady with curly hair. “Hi, can I get you some more hot water? Maybe something to eat?”

The woman looks up at her: she has big round eyes set in a round, happy face, and her sketchbook is full of doodles of cartoon animals and realistic trees. Xiaolian doesn't think she's seen her before. "Oh, hi!" she says. Her voice is bright, and a little mischievous. "I'd love another pot of hot water, sure! And ... um..." She bites her lip, thinking. "Do you guys have any sugar cookies or anything like that?"

“We sure do, we have two kinds. We have our plain fairy-shaped sugar cookies, and alien-themed sugar cookies with icing.” Xiaolian smiles. “But we also have a huge assortment of pastries if neither of those appeal to you.”

Her face positively _lights up_ with joy. "Fairies _and_ aliens??" She claps her hands together. "One of each, please!"  Xiaolian's certain this woman is new in town. She's sure that she would have remembered this sheer unbridled joy.

Xiaolian blinks, suddenly fearful of being blinded by this woman’s joy. A blush rises to her cheeks and she can feel herself start to stammer. “I-- um, of course! Right away. And I’ll get you some water too.” Xiaolian rushes to the counter, trying to get out of there before she does something stupid and embarrassing like saying ‘You’re like the sun’ to a stranger.

She hears the woman call "Thanks!!" as she scurries away. There are plenty of fresh cookies in the display cabinet, so it's no trouble to plate a couple. They're buttery, still the slightest hint warm, and the alien smiles up at her from the plate. The hot water takes a minute longer to come to a boil, so she has a moment of reprieve from the sunny woman, whatever her name is. But then the kettle whistles.

“Fuck, why am I so damn gay?” Xiaolian takes the kettle in one hand and grabs the plate in another. She takes a quick breath to steady herself before she heads back to the Sunshine Lady. “Okay, I have two cookies and one hot kettle for...” Xiaolian pauses, hoping Sunshine Lady will provide her name and Xiaolian won’t look stupid.

The lady bounces in her seat, and her curls bounce one more time than she does. "Ooh! Me! Sara!"  Out of the corner of her eye, Xiaolian sees Francesca try not to chuckle.

Xiaolian decides that Sara is suddenly the most beautiful name she’s ever heard in her life. She can’t help the bright smile spreading on her face, Sara’s happiness is contagious. “Two cookies and one hot kettle for Sara.” She carefully sets the items down. “Alright, I hope you enjoy those. My name is Xiaolian by the way, call me if you need anything else!” Xiaolian walked away, silently cursing whatever god sent this woman to the café: she was going to die.

"Thanks Xiaolian!" Sara beams at her, grabs a cookie - the alien - and takes a big bite. "Will do!" she then says, as Xiaolian walks away, her mouth full.

When she gets back to the counter, Andrew is peeking out of the kitchen, and he catches her eye - then half-smiles, and raises an eyebrow. "You met our new artist, I see."

Xiaolian hisses and points accusingly at him. “You could have warned me earlier that she was so cheerful. I feel like my face is sunburned, she was bright and happy.”

Andrew's half-smile turns into a slight smirk. "Now where would you get the idea that I could be the clouds over such a sun?"

Xiaolian throws her hands up in defeat. “I could have at least put on sunglasses. Now I need to get aloe.” She turns away from in a huff, mumbling something about being bullied. She leans on the counter, with nothing to do.

While Xiaolian is leaning on the counter, idly watching the handful of patrons sip their tea - and maybe less-than-idly watching Sara sketch in the windowsill - she lets her mind wander. It wanders back to her morning, before she got to the café, before she found out about the attack, before she was blinded by the light of Sunshine Lady Sara.

She remembers a dream she had, which she'd since forgotten in the morning's events.

_Xiaolian is standing in the forest. It's dark, _very_ dark, so dark she can barely see her hand in front of her face. She feels like there are other people near her, but she cannot see them. She feels afraid: nervous, apprehensive. Like she's waiting, like all of them are waiting for something, and she's supposed to be quiet. She's holding something hard and vaguely cylindrical in her right hand._

_The waiting seems interminable, and Xiaolian wakes up without ever finding out what she was waiting for. However, echoing in her mind as her eyes opened to see her bedroom ceiling are the whispered words, "Let ... me ... go ... "_

Xiaolian blinks, and she's back in the present. Sara is holding her sketchbook up and looking over in Xiaolian's direction, almost like she's ... comparing.

The words still echo in her mind.


	3. Morning - II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over italicised foreign language text for translations! (Mobile and tablet users, please see the ending notes.) These are not written by native speakers by any means, please forgive the inevitable terrible errors if you are a speaker! 
> 
> Also, warning: some slightly graphic descriptions of body horror!

Owen wakes up under the big fir tree. It's daytime now, but still overcast. Not a pleasant day. He feels relatively rested, but ... hungrier than he expected to feel. After a moment, he realizes why: something smells _good_ , and ... and it smells _close._

Owen tries to figure out which direction is _away_ from the smell, and go that way. Fresh dead bodies usually meant people, which usually meant... Angry mobs.

As he tries to decide on a way to go, he realizes that he can't quite tell where the smell is coming from. It's not coming in on the wind – it's very, _very_ close. He hears a crunch, off to his left. He can't resist it. He just can't. It smells too good, and it's so _close_. He is drawn out from under the fir tree, turns to his left, and walks forward. As he walks, the smell keeps getting stronger, and he begins to salivate. God, it smells good. It's been so long. Has it? He thinks back to the last time he ate ... the pull of muscle, the crunch of bone.

He hears another crunch, not in his mind, and he's brought to a stop. About thirty feet away from him is ... another person. They don't look quite right – and not in the way that _he_ looks, either, they look even _worse_. And ... they're holding the remains of a human leg.

Owen knows the town is to the south-east. That would be his best way out.  It's not _that_ far. He could run ... or ... or ... 

A string of saliva drips out his mouth, which he hadn't even realized was hanging open... Or, he thought, he could eat.

He takes a step forward. Another. One more. The creature lifts its head and looks at him curiously, then dips back down and takes another bite of the leg.

Owen starts to reach out, before hesitating. Maybe this... guy? Could communicate...?  "...Hello...?"

The thing looks up again, tilts its head, and groans faintly. It has stopped eating and seems vaguely curious.

"D-d'you understand me?" Owen takes a step back. "Sorry, I—I'm just..." He looks at the leg, then at the creature. "…hungry."

The creature doesn't respond for a second, then ... sniffs the air. It moans softly again, and ... holds out the leg.  The breeze blows the smell right into Owen's face. It smells... _so good._

Owen lets out a soft sigh of relief, taking it, a bit hesitant. "Thank you." He says softly.

It lets go of the leg and watches him. Very carefully. Owen gets the sense this reprieve is going to be short-lived.

He takes a careful bite, trying his hardest not to upset the thing that's feeding him. This is an arch-ghoul; it is very good at staying alive, and it can consume almost anything to do so.

Owen watches the creature as he eats, realizing what it is. Okay. He'd have to be wary, but hopefully the ghoul would feel enough kinship not to kill him...

As Owen eats, he feels the deep hunger within him begin to recede. He also sees the ghoul beginning to get...antsy. It's a slow antsy, but it's getting impatient. Probably time to hand whatever's left back, and hit the road.

Owen whispers a soft 'thank you' as he gives the leg remains back, darting away quickly.

As he leaves, he hears the faint crunching sound of the ghoul beginning to eat again. It does not follow.

* * *

It's Thursday morning. Mikaere wakes up. It sure is a morning. It's cold, they can already tell. They're due at the bookstore in about an hour. Breakfast here, or at the Monstrous and Divine?

Mikaere rubs at their eyes, sits up, and takes their blanket with them as a cape while they get dressed, hissing at the cold floor against their bare feet. There's a lot of jumping and wobbling, trying to keep the blanket wrapped around them until the last possible moment, but once they've pulled on a pair of jeans and a ratty, too-large sweater, they grab their beanie and coat on the way out the door and set out towards the M&D.

The town is quiet, as per usual. There's an RCMP squad car parked by the medical clinic, which is a little odd. Walking up to the M&D, Mikaere can see that there are a handful of people inside: Francesca and Holly, just barely visible through the front window, a new girl that Mikaere doesn't recognize curled up in the actual windowsill, and judging by the papers spread across the big table in the center, Steven's doing accounts again.

Mikaere sidles up to Steven with a winning smile. "Hey, Steven, how's it going?" they ask, and then, quieter, "What's the deal with the Mounties at the clinic? Did you hear anything?"

Steven looks up at Mikaere, sits back in his chair, and grabs his coffee cup, draining it. By the slightly crazed look in his eyes, this is cup three at least. "Hey Mikaere. It's, ah, going." He rubs his eyes. "Mounties at the clinic? I assume that's where they took the body they found this morning."

Mikaere splutters. "Body?!" they say, far too loud, and then, sitting down at Steven's table and leaning forward, " _body?!_  A-also, are you okay, man? Because the coffee here is good to keep me going for like eighteen hours at a time, and I know you're probably like at least a _bit_ more used to it than I am but, like, be careful, alright?"

Steven blinks a bit, rubs his eyes again, and puts his mug down. "Uh – yeah. Yeah, I will. We're all just really shaken up, and I'd just barely gotten to sleep when Francesca called." He cracks his neck. "Banjo found a poor girl on the edge of the RV park when he went out for his morning run. Animal attack or something. Mounties got in not too long ago."

"Oh my god," Mikaere says, looking much more serious. "I hope Banjo's okay. Have – have they identified her yet?"

Steven chuckles. "Banjo's Banjo, dude. I don't think he's fazed by anything." He turns more serious again. "Not that I've heard, but then, I haven't heard much. You having breakfast?"

Mikaere laughs. "Guess not," they say. "And, uh, yeah, if that's okay. I kinda forgot about dinner last night."

Steven snorts. "Yeah, sure. Hey Andrew!" Andrew pops out from the kitchen; Adam is nowhere to be seen at the moment. "Mikaere's here. Wanna grab their regular breakfast?" Andrew nods and disappears back into the kitchen.

Mikaere smiles. "Thanks, Steven! Uh, do you need me to vacate? I know you were just doing, um, accounting or something, and I kind of interrupted."

Steven shakes his head. "Doesn't bother me. Stick around, grab another table, whatever floats your boat. The paperwork isn't going anywhere."

Mikaere feels a light tap on their shoulder and hears a tiny little super-nervous throat-clearing behind them.

"Aw, thanks Steven!" Mikaere says, and turns around to see who's behind them.

Mikaere is met by the very petite woman they saw in the window: she's got a shock of pink curls, the happiest little heart face you ever did see, and she's currently bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. "Uh, hi," she says, clearly feeling kind of awkward. "I'm Sara. I'm an artist. And, um, I just wanted to ask, because I don't wanna be weird and I know sometimes this is weird for people, but I really really like your tattoos and I was wondering if it was okay if I sketched you?"  The last half of her sentence becomes pretty rapid-fire, and when she finishes she holds out her sketchbook, showing a bunch of doodles, including head-and-shoulders portraits of many of the town's residents, including, Mikaere can see, a very flattering portrait of Xiaolian.

Mikaere blushes _very_ hard. "Y-y-you like my moko? Oh! Uh, yeah, you can absolutely s-sketch me, that would be amazing, I'd – I'd be honoured! Do you need me to like do anything, or...? Also I'm Mikaere, it's, um, it's good to meet you?"

Sara beams, and briefly resembles the sun. "Nice to meet you too! And no, you don't have to do anything, I'll just sketch from the window, it's all chill!" She bounces up and down on her toes again. "You do you!" She heads back to her spot on the windowsill.

A plate is placed in front of Mikaere: a bacon sandwich, on fresh baked and toasted sourdough bread, with a perfect layer of Gruyere cheese, a perfectly-cooked egg, and a drizzle of M&D's signature truffle sauce. Andrew says, standing beside Mikaere, "She's a force of nature, isn't she?"

Mikaere looks up at him with a grin. "Thanks, Andrew, this looks amazing. Do we know who she is? She's so..." Mikaere is lost for words, so they make some emphatic hand gestures. "You know?"

"No problem. Not ... really? She showed up this morning, her name's Sara, she's been sketching since seven. She just about blew Xiaolian away earlier. You want coffee?"

Mikaere laughs. "Xiaolian and me both. Coffee would be really good, thanks." They start trying to sneak surreptitious looks at Sara over their food, which they're trying to eat as daintily as possible, because she keeps looking up at them for her sketch. It's a mess. They're definitely going to be late for work, and they may never stop blushing.

Andrew disappears into the kitchen, and returns a couple minutes later with a latte, adorned with the image of a sun wearing sunglasses. And then he's gone again.

Sara is indeed glancing up at Mikaere every once in a while, but not really looking _at_ them, just sort of ... at them. She's still exuding joy, somehow, from over there, and Mikaere notices that Francesca and Holly are both watching Mik with the tiniest of smiles.

Mikaere smiles at their latte, wincing slightly when they have to mess up the art to dump sugar into it. "Hey, Steven, why are Holly and Francesca both here?"

Steven smiles at the latte art too, then responds. "Oh – well, the RCMP are probably still investigating the RV park, and I think they asked everyone to leave it to them for now. Francesca and Holly have been in for a while. Holly's pretty shook up, I think."

Mikaere grimaces. "That makes sense. Do they know, like, what happened? With the body? Do they think it was an accident, or a murder, or – or something else?"

Steven shakes his head. "Francesca said it looked like an animal attack."

Mikaere frowns into their food. This is really, really bad breakfast conversation but it's also completely possible that there's something exciting going on in town and they _have_ to be a part of it if that's true. Maybe the best course of action here is to take a sick day and see if they can get into the clinic...

Mikaere's phone buzzes in their pocket. A text.

Mikaere digs their phone out of their pocket and unlocks it, reading:

` _boss-man:_ get ur ass down here Mik i found a book ur gonna love. also shit's goin' down? bring me a cookie from M &D i know ur there `

Mikaere looks up toward the counter, apologetic. "Uh, can I get this to go plus two alien cookies? I'm really sorry, Andrew, I've gotta get to work."

Andrew looks up. "Yeah no problem. Big guy's impatient, eh?" He comes over with a to-go cup, a takeout box (made of biodegradable cardboard!) and a bag with two alien cookies.  He snags Mikaere's latte and deftly pours it into the cup.

Mikaere nods, smiles. "Apparently he's got a book I need to check out."  They get up from the table and head over to Sara, rubbing the back of their neck and staring at their shoes as they speak: "Um, I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but I have to go to work. I'm over at the used bookstore, if, um, you wanted to come by some time?"

Sara looks up and grins. "Ooh! Sure! I haven't been there yet, I was thinking about checking it out later today. Also here's your sketch!" She turns the sketchbook around and shows them the portrait: it's very well done, they look quite handsome.

Mikaere blushes again. "Thank you so much, wow! Um- I hope I'll see you later?"

"I hope so too! Everyone in this town is so friendly!" Sara grins.

Andrew taps Mikaere on the shoulder and offers them the box, complete with sandwich, with the bag of cookies perched on top, the cup of coffee in the other hand.

Mikaere takes the box from Andrew with a smile. "Yeah, yeah, there's a lot of really good folks here. Um – bye! Thanks Andrew! Thanks Steven!"

Luckily for Mikaere, Alshaytania is just down the street, no more than a couple minutes' walk from M&D. Willow River is starting to come to life, as much as it ever does: there are people walking, a car cruises by and its occupant waves at Mikaere – an old school friend – and the other businesses are beginning to open up for the day.

Mikaere hurries along, nodding at people who acknowledge them, but smiling apologetically if they try to stop and talk. They reach Alshaytania and struggle to free one hand in order to knock.

They barely get to the door before it's swung open as if by magic, and they are greeted by the looming figure of their boss, who Mikaere will swear up and down (as will anyone in Willow River) is taller than God and skinnier than and almost as awkward-looking as a beanpole. Nevertheless, everyone in town is ride or die for this man, whose smile is rivaled only in softness by the weirdo who runs the UFO museum ( _"information center!"_ Mikaere's brain provides, helpfully): right this moment, Shane's eyes are crinkling more than a ginger snap, his arms are full of books (how did he open the door? who knows), and he holds the door open with his foot, motioning for Mikaere to come in with his head. "Mik!" he exclaims excitedly, "Did you bring the cookie?"  The inside of the bookstore is, as always, barely controlled chaos: archways made of books, walls covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed full of volumes; Shane gets shipments in from everywhere and Mikaere has never known him to turn a book away.

Mikaere grins as they enter and set the box from M&D down on the nearest flat surface. "Of course I brought the cookie, big guy!" They turn back toward Shane and lower their voice: "Have you heard anything about what happened this morning?"

The nearest flat surface is, of course, a pile of books. Romance novels, in fact. Romance cryptid novels, even. Those weren't there yesterday. Does Shane ever sleep? The mystery will remain unsolved.  Shane puts his armfuls of books down on top of more books, and takes the bag of cookies, pulling one out and chomping on it. "I found cookies!" he says, with glee. "Thanks for feeding my habit." He swallows. "What happened this morning? You mean the attack? Yeah, I heard about it from Banjo when I went to get the mail."

Mikaere pulls their eyes away from the cryptid romance novels (was one of _those_ the book Shane wanted to show them?) and nods. "Steven said the Mounties said it was an animal attack, but I don't know about that. I want to know what's going on. If this is something new, something weird, like what happened a couple years back..."

Shane polishes off the cookie. His mouth is _huge_. He can demolish Adam's biggest pastries in seconds flat. He brushes crumbs out of his beard, and grins. "You and Ryan both, man. He was _lighting up_ my phone this morning with theories about what happened. I think it's probably just scavengers, you know me, but, well, I've always said Bigfoot could totally be an omnivore." He shrugs. "Anyway, I said I found you a book!" He turns around, hunts in the pile he just abandoned on the desk, and comes out with a slim tome, leather-bound, which he holds out to Mik.

Mikaere laughs. "Bigfoot. You think _Bigfoot_ ate a hiker. Jesus, man, alright..." They take the book, turn it over in their hands. "What is it?"

He grins. "I dunno man. Can't take this stuff too seriously or you get real down on yourself, you know? The book's a neat little manuscript on ancient aliens. Kooky stuff, right up your alley. I'm gonna go organize the biographies – holler if you need anything!" He disappears into the back.

Mikaere grins, waves the book after him. "Thanks man!" they call out, flopping down into the chair behind the counter and cracking open the book.

The book is a literal manuscript, penned in a semi-shaky cursive. It's in English, but some of the turns of phrase strike Mikaere as not being quite right – the author seems to have English as at least a second language. The book is short. It's a treatise on the possibilities of ley lines being created by ancient aliens, who visited Earth long before humans evolved, creating points of energy throughout the globe in sets of twelve. It's ... well, honestly, it's gobbledygook, and Mikaere can tell. The ramblings of a crazy person, or else someone's worldbuilding notebook for a D&D campaign.

Mikaere, sitting back in the armchair, ponders for a moment. The book's crazy, but maybe they weren't so far off about things being connected. Things are _always_ connected. They think back over the events of the last few months. All the sightings in November ... the admissions from the government and the air force, which had smacked of a cover-up ... they remember, about a couple weeks ago, a weird incident just outside of Prince George, where a body had turned up missing a couple limbs. The official story had been frostbite and scavengers: Mikaere hadn't been so sure. This seemed way too familiar. If that pattern held true, with the direction and the timing ... the next incident would occur a couple weeks from now, further north-west. Towards the forest. Almost like it was moving away from the mountains.

* * *

James rolls into Willow River at ten o'clock, trundling along the main road. It's a quiet morning, but he suspects there isn't any other kind in this small town. He sees an RCMP squad car by what looks like a medical clinic, and a tall person in a beige duster leaning against the wall of the clinic, writing in a notebook.

James pulls his car into the parking space next to the RCMP car and hops out. He makes sure his car is locked before he approaches the tall person. "Hey! I'm sorry for intruding but, would you know where a local library is?" James smiles sheepishly.

The tall person – now visible to be a woman with sharp features – looks up in surprise. "My my my, Willow River is simply bustling these days," she muses, putting her notebook and pen in the pocket of her duster. She steps forward, and extends her hand. "Cecilia Tinsley."

James takes her hand. "James Finn. Yeah, I've heard some... interesting stories." James tries his hardest to keep a kind smile on his face, while flashes of stories he has heard from other hunters circle his mind.

Cecilia shakes James' hand firmly. "Pleased to meet you." She chuckles. "Have you, now? That's probably the Bergara boy's fault. Crazy kid. Anyway, you asked about a library? I'm afraid we haven't got one ... the closest thing would probably be Alshaytania, the used bookstore down near the bed and breakfast. Whatever Madej doesn't have in stock, I guarantee you he knows about."

"Ah." James nods, a bit disappointed, libraries are usually the best place to kind the local legends and old stories to add to his large collection of handwritten journals detailing the myths, legends, and monsters of a lot of towns in North America going back 100 years and some on Africa and the Middle East, tracing back a few hundred years. "Well, thank you Cecilia." He pauses for a second. "And... can I ask why the RCMP are here in this small town?"

She regards him cautiously for a moment, then answers. "Just an incident with a drunk hitchhiker last night. Nothing to worry about. What brings you to town?"

James shrugs, "Nothing in particular. I was just passing nearby and figured I would stop in for a little bit."

"Oh?" She leans back on the building, her eyes falling into the shade of her fedora. "Where are you headed? Northern BC isn't exactly prime tourist country."

"My parents recently moved out to Penticton and invited me up for my mom's birthday on the thirty-first. I thought it would be fun to hit up some interesting places and tourist traps on my trip back." James kept calm eye contact with Cecilia.

"Huh," she replies after a moment. "Penticton eh? Gorgeous city. Well, always nice to have new folks come through town." She smiles, and stands up off the wall, though the smile is still a little guarded. "If you're looking for a place to stay, Spirit of the Lake is the local bed and breakfast." She points down the road. "Hope you enjoy your stay, Mr Finn."

"Thank you Ms. Tinsley, I'm sure I will." James smiles warmly. "Uh, where was the bookstore again? Alshaytania right?"

"Yep, that's it – not far from the bed and breakfast. Most everything's on the one road here in Willow River."

"Thanks again!" James waves goodbye as he begins walking down main street, looking at all the shop signs.

Willow River is a small enough town that there is plenty of space between most of the shops. There are seven establishments of note on the main road: the medical clinic, which James parked in front of, the volunteer fire department building next to it, the community hall across the road (which doubles as the mayor's office), the general store and post office next to _that_ , and then further down the road, quite a large house, with a dragon banner flying below the Canadian flag on its flagpole – James assumes this is the bed and breakfast. Further down from that is a building with a sign that looks like Arabic art – presumably Alshaytania – and, across the street from it, a low building with a banner that reads "LIVE MUSIC!"  As he approaches, James can see that the sign he spotted is Arabic calligraphy – heavily stylized, and he would need some time to figure out what it actually said, but it seems to be hand-painted, and quite well done.  However, there is a line of Arabic that encircles the sign, which reads الآيات الشيطانية.

James stares in confusion at the sign. He hesitates before entering the book store. He holds back his questions about the sign as he sees the employees in the store.

The store is quiet. This isn't surprising, as it seems to contain more books than the Library of Alexandria. Floor to ceiling bookshelves, stacks of books on the floor, archways made of books. Cecilia clearly was not kidding. There is a tiny little chime above the door, but it's doubtful anyone can hear it through all the insulating paper.  Nonetheless, a tall and gangly man pops out shortly from behind a corner, and smiles brightly, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Welcome to Alshaytania, stranger! Are you looking for anything in particular?" Behind him, in the depths of the store, James can see someone else sitting behind what is probably the sales counter, which is also covered in books: they've got long black hair and a tattoo on their chin. Also, of note: the tall man pronounces the Arabic flawlessly, unlike Tinsley's Anglicized version.

"Uh." James is caught off guard by the beautiful man smiling at him. He almost doesn't notice the tattooed person behind the literal sunshine coming from the tall man. "I— I'm looking for some books on this town's history. If you have any." All the cool has left James's body and mind.

The man ducks under the archway of books separating him from James, then begins scanning the wall to his right. "Town history, eh?" he murmurs, brushing his fingers over the spines. "Hm. Can't say there's been a lot written about this little town..." He snags a stepstool with his foot and steps onto it, gaining yet another few inches to reach the very top shelves. "I do have some collections of old newspapers with town history. Willow River was really only founded in 1912 or so. Mill town. Close to the river." He selects a hand-bound book and pulls it off the shelf, then climbs down and hands it to him. "Not much to it."

James takes the book handed to him. "Thanks." James looks at the cover of the book. "That's a shame, this seems like a really... _muthir lil'iiejab_ town."

The man pauses briefly before responding, his hand also pausing before relinquishing the book. " _Ma aldhy yajealuha muthiratan lilahtimama_? “

James smiles at the man's response, acting as though they were having a normal conversation. " _Hasananaan, barjk lishay' wahdun. la taraa aledyd min al'amakin alty tueln ean ayat shaytaniatin_. “

The man laughs, his eyes crinkling again. " _Madha 'astatie qawluha? 'Ana 'uhiba kutib salman rushdi_. “ He extends his hand to James. " _Aismi Shane. Ma asmak_? “

James laughs lightly and reaches for Shane's hand. " _Aismi Jyms. Min aljayd 'an 'altaqi bik, Shane_. “

Shane shakes; his handshake is firm. " _W'ant ayda. Limadha 'ant fi nahr alsifsaf_? “

As much as James likes talking to Shane, he knows he can't let that sunshine smile get all his secrets. "' _Ana burtaqali altaarikh._ “ James shrugs nonchalantly.

" _Makan bidun tarikh hu makan ghurayb lieishaq altaarikh,_ “ Shane says, raising an eyebrow. " _lkn la yhm. Hal hnak 'ayu kutib 'ukhraa yumkinuni alhusul ealayha_? “

" _Yumkin. Walikuna bed al'amakin ladayha qisat 'aemaq eindama taerif 'an nanzur fiha. Hdha sayakun rayieaan fi alwaqt alhali._ Thank you for the incredible service Shane."

Shane regards him curiously again, then nods. "Of course. Any time."

James smiles once more before moving away from the beautiful man standing amongst the towers of books. He walks over to the nearest arm chair. Once he sits down, he pulls out a leather-bound journal from his jacket and a pen. He opens the journal to a new page and writes Willow River in large letters on the top of the page. He cracks open the book on Willow River's history and begins reading.

The book is, as Shane said, mainly a bound collection of newspapers, mainly from the Prince George Citizen, and further back in time, the Fort George Herald. At the back is a manuscript edition of a book titled "Homemade Memories", written by an Eileen Walski in 1985.  In a nutshell: the town was founded in the early 1910s as a base for sawmill operations, and it has trundled along ever since with ups and downs as the lumber industry waxed and waned. There have been what seems to be an inordinate number of fires in the area, as well as several unfortunate drowning deaths and several missing persons cases.  The book does not seem to detail anything past the early 2010s.

James writes the basic history of the town in his journal. He creates a basic timeline of the major events of the town and the dates of the listed mysterious events. He creates sections for future notes on the fires and weird deaths.

The bell chimes over the door to the bookstore.  "Shane? Mikaere? Anyone home?" calls a voice James has not heard before.

Mikaere looks up from their manuscript. "Francesca, hi!"

The plaid-wearing, booted, dark-skinned woman in the bright orange beanie strides into the shop. "Hey Mik. I'm lookin' for a romance novel for Hol. She's still all shook up and I figure something a li'l more titillating might chill her out. Did you ever get those crazy cryptid novels in?"

James sits quietly in his corner, not saying anything, but taking note of what the new people are saying.

Mikaere gives her a grin. "That's a sweet idea. Yeah, uh, there was a whole stack of 'em somewhere around here when I came in this morning – let me just – " they extricate themself from the counter and the stacks of books nearest to it, making their way over to the cryptid romances they remember seeing this morning. "They look, um. Yeah, titillating's probably a good word."

Mikaere pulls their beanie off and runs a hand through their hair. "Is, um. Is Holly doing okay? What happened?"

James remembers the RCMP cars by the medical center and what Cecilia said. _Drunk dude, my ass_. He is now listening more than reading and writing.

Francesca pulls off her own beanie and plays with it in her hands, clearly concerned about her partner. "Well, I mean, Banjo told her first, y'know, and so she was the first one to see it 'sides him. So ... maybe nothin' gory? Some kinda chill elf romance or something would probably be good."

Mikaere nods, starts going through the books and looking for the least sharp-looking cryptid they can find. "Jesus, I didn't realise she had to see it, as well. I hope she's alright – it wasn't anyone she knew, was it?"

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, clearly unnerved for some reason. "Ah, no, no, it was just some hitchhiker. No one Banjo knew, anyway, and that's sayin' somethin'."

Mikaere finds a worn paperback titled _The Firelord's Lover_ , featuring the face of someone who's clearly supposed to look _sort of_ like Orlando Bloom, but not quite.

James writes the information he hears under the category of "Mysterious Murders".

"Oh, okay. Well, I guess that's something, right?" Mikaere says, and picks out the book. "This one's, uhh, maybe an Avatar: The Last Airbender knock-off? With um, Orlando Not-Quite-Bloom. Seem like Holly's kind of book?"

Francesca takes the book and reads the back cover. "Yeah, that'll do." She looks back up at Mik. "Cece says the autopsy's s'posed to be done just after lunch. Dunno how she gets all this info, but there you are. Poor girl." She shakes her head, reaches into her pocket, and hands Mik a toonie and a couple of quarters – the standard price for romance novels here at Alshaytania.

Mikaere smiles. "She knows her stuff, that's for sure. Thanks for letting me know – see you around, alright?"

"'Course," Francesca replies. "Not like there's much else to talk about. Bet you ten bucks the Bergara kid thinks it's aliens."

James marks down a "Bergara" as a person of interest.

Mikaere chuckles. "That's a safe bet, but you're not gonna find any takers under this roof. Shane's been teasing him about this all morning. Uh – sorry, that was kind of, um. Insensitive, wasn't it. I'll shut up now."

Francesca laughs. "Nah, you're chill. Ryan can give it as good as he can take it, s'why he fits in here so well. Anyway. I'd better get home to Holly. Thanks again for the book." She waves goodbye, and exits the store.

Mikaere beams at her. "Thanks, Francesca! Say hi to Holly for me!" they call after her.

James edits his note to read "Bergara, Ryan".

Mikaere gets to putting the cryptid romances back in order. They look over at the man in the corner with a wry smile. "Getting some good info?"

James looks up at the person at the checkout desk and holds up the little book Shane gave him. "Getting some. Is there a reason there isn't any info after around 2010?"

Mikaere shrugs. "That's an older book. You'd probably have to talk to our local paper's editor to get access to more current stuff, seeing as how we don't have a library. Or you could go to the information centre, but, um. Not many people go there for history."

James stands up and walls over to their desk. "What else is the information centre used for?"

"Um, typically it offers more, uh, _out there_  information? The guy who runs it, he's a good dude, but he's sort of into uh. Conspiracy theories. Also, aliens." Mikaere avoids the guy's eyes. If they maybe absolutely believe almost all of what Bergara has set up in that information centre of his, that's for them to know and this stranger to never find out. Especially since this guy seems to have hit it off so well with Shane. Mikaere will never live it down if another skeptic finds out about their fascination with the incident a few months back.

"Aliens? In the information centre?" James smiles goodnaturedly, noticing that they won't make eye contact with him. Maybe they believe in aliens... "That's pretty cool. Might have to check it out later. Do you guys have a lot of cool stories, huh?"

Mikaere looks up at him. "Yeah, there's some pretty neat stuff there, if, um. If that's your thing."

James shrugs. "Not sure I believe that aliens walk among us," James chuckled deep in his chest, "but there are some things we don't know."

Mikaere nods. "That's a sensible point of view," they say, then, smirking, "You might want to take it up with Ryan at the center. He'll tell you all about the 'science we don't know about yet'."

The bell chimes again as Xiaolian makes her way into the store. She’s holding two white bags with the logo of the Monstrous and Divine Cafe. She’s humming something quietly to herself.

"Hi, Xiaolian!" Mikaere calls out. "Whatcha looking for?"

James turns to the person who just walked in, throwing a smile in her direction.

Xiaolian smiles brightly, still feeling the effects of Sara’s presence. “Hey Mickey! Shane here? I got a surprise.”

Mikaere looks around. "I'm sure he was here just a minute ago... Shane! Xiaolian's here for you!"

Xiaolian notices the new stranger and gives him a small wave.

James waves back. "Hello!  I'm James."

Shane pops his head around the corner. "Right party in here today."

Mikaere smiles. "Town's heating up again, Shane. Something's going on. I can feel it."

Shane snorts. "Something's going on alright: some unfortunate soul gets mauled to death by a bobcat or something and the RCMP show up and everyone rides in on their coattails."  He looks over at Xiaolian. "What's in the bags? I didn't call for lunch."

James makes a mental note of Shane's comment.

Xiaolian can't help but smile even wider at James. “Hi James! I’m Xiaolian, it’s nice to meet you!” She turns back to Shane and holds out one bag. “Well, it’s your lucky day! Adam had extra dough for Bigfoot Footprints and I suggested we give them to you!”

Shane figuratively turns into the sun, and comes all the way around the corner. "Bigfoot Footprints? For me? Holy shit!"

James laughs quietly at Shane's excitement over cryptid pastries.

“Well I mean, if you don’t want them...” Xiaolian starts bringing the bag back closer to her.

"No, no, I definitely want them!" He reaches out with an arm that seems longer than it should be, and takes the proffered bag. He reaches in, grabs the box inside, and opens it, allowing the aroma of warm sugar to drift into the air. He offers the box around the circle – there are a half-dozen pastries inside, more than enough for everyone to have one.

James grabs one of the pastries, quietly thanking Shane.

Xiaolian snickers. “Geez, you act like you never eat.” She snaps her fingers. “That reminds me. Steven decided that in light of recent events, everyone gets a free pastry at the cafe,” she points at Shane, “Except for you. Cause you just got like six.”

Shane pouts. It's adorable. "Fine then, guess I'll just go spend my hard-earned cash by investing in local businesses and supporting the town economy!" He takes a pastry, and eats half of it in one bite.

Xiaolian can’t help but giggle at his actions. “Hey, is Ryan at his usual spot?” She holds up the second bag and tries to fight the rising blush on her face. “I uh, I want him to try these.”

"Ha! Well, I can't imagine he'd be anywhere else," Shane replies, finishing off the pastry in a second bite.

"Ryan... Bergara? He runs the information centre right? I was just gonna head down there. I could go with you Xiaolian."  James takes a bite of the pastry.

It's incredibly good. Flaky, filled with almonds and seeds and chocolate curls, like a footprint filled with detritus on the forest floor. ... There's a reason that Steven writes the ad copy for M&D, and not Andrew.

“Yeah, that’s Ryan.” Xiaolian can’t help but frown. The last time she took someone to see Ryan, the dude was an asshole. “Why do you need to see him?”

James shrugs. "I want to learn more about this town. The belief of aliens is a part of this town. I'd like to learn more."

Shane chuckles, tearing into another pastry. "You'll be getting the whole hog with Mr Bergara. Cryptids, ghosts, UFOs – you name it, Ryan Bergara believes in it. What a guy."

Xiaolian walks right up to James and stares him straight in the eyes. She’s got a determined look on her face. “You’re not gonna hassle him or anything right? Cause if you do, that jolly green giant over there is gonna use his demonic powers to get you.” She almost says something stupid like ‘and I’ll feed you to a dragon’.

Both of Shane's eyebrows shoot up in response to being called a jolly green giant with demonic powers, but he says nothing.

James looks down at the small girl currently threatening him. He holds out his pinky finger. "I swear."

Xiaolian blinks, before her smile breaks out on her face again. She tightly laces her pinky around James’s. “Good.” She pulls away before turning to Shane and giving him a quick hug. She already starts to head towards the door. “We gotta hurry though, Adam will only let me stay out for so long.”

Shane instinctively hugs Xiaolian back, though it's slightly awkward because, well, his arms are too long to be allowed, and also he is just kind of an awkward person.

" _Shaytan haqiqi hah_? “ James quirks an eyebrow at Shane as he follows Xiaolian out of the book store.

Shane raises an eyebrow and grins in response. " _Hal qasas al'atfal laysat misaliyatan?_ “

The bell chimes behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> الآيات الشيطانية [satanic verses]  
> \---  
> muthir lil'iiejab [interesting]  
> "Ma aldhy yajealuha muthiratan lilahtimama?" [What makes it interesting?]  
> "Hasananaan, barjk lishay' wahdun. la taraa aledyd min al'amakin alty tueln ean ayat shaytaniatin." [Well, your sign for one thing. Don't see many places advertising satanic verses.]  
> "Madha 'astatie qawluha? 'Ana 'uhiba kutib salman rushdi." [What can I say? I love Salman Rushdie's books.] "Aismi Shane. Ma asmak?" [My name is Shane. What's yours?]  
> "Aismi Jyms. Min aljayd 'an 'altaqi bik , Shayn." [My name is James. It's nice to meet you, Shane.]  
> "W'ant ayda. Limadha 'ant fi nahr alsifsaf?" [You too. Why are you in Willow River?]  
> "'Ana burtaqali altaarikh." [I'm a history buff.]  
> "Makan bidun tarikh hu makan ghurayb lieishaq altaarikh," [A place without history is a strange place for a history buff,] "lkn la yhm. Hal hnak 'ayu kutib 'ukhraa yumkinuni alhusul ealayha?" [But no matter. Are there any other books I can get for you?]  
> "Yumkin. Walikuna bed al'amakin ladayha qisat 'aemaq eindama taerif 'an nanzur fiha. Hdha sayakun rayieaan fi alwaqt alhali." [Maybe. But some places have a deeper story when you know where to look. This will be great for now.]  
> \---  
> "Shaytan haqiqi hah?" [A real demon, huh?]  
> "Hal qasas al'atfal laysat misaliyatan?" [Aren't children's stories amusing?]


	4. Afternoon - Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this chapter contains descriptions of gore; the section is also marked within the chapter.

“Bye Shane! Bye Mickey, see ya later!” Xiaolian starts down the street. “Hopefully Ryan isn’t in one of his moods, cause then the only person who can snap him out of it is Shane.”

"Well I'm sure he gets a lot of people going in to make fun of him." James shakes his head. "That's a mean thing to do, mock someone you don't know about their interests."

Xiaolian nods. “Yeah people can be real fucking asshats.” Xiaolian leans in close to James like she’s about tell him a secret. There’s a mischievous smile on her face. “There’s a running joke that Ryan has an alter ego named Ricky Goldsworth or something.”

James chuckles. "That sounds like an extremely fake name."

Xiaolian can't help the loud laugh that escapes her. “Yeah it totally does! But it’s fun.”

The walk to the information center is a little longer: Ryan runs it out of, essentially, an old house. Many of the small businesses in Willow River work this way – for several decades, the provincial police station was in a bungalow. After a few minutes of walking further into town, they come upon an unassuming little house with a very professional-looking sign nailed to the front porch, which reads:

`Hours of Operation:`  
`10 am – 5 pm Monday through Friday`  
`1 pm – 9 pm Saturday`  
`Closed Sundays`  
`Paranormal Tours Available`  
`willowriverpic.com`

"Paranormal tours." James turns to Xiaolian. "They any good?"

“Super, Ryan is a great storyteller. It’s wild how quickly you can get lost when listening to him. He kinda reminds me of a siren.” Xiaolian walks into another place she visits frequently. “Ryan?”

James follows Xiaolian inside, only slightly worried that the famous Ryan is an actual siren.

The front room of the house, which seems to be about half of the main floor, is set up much like a museum: there are display cases, information plaques, a rack of pamphlets, and even a little booth with a touchscreen and headphones, which is currently off. The main exhibit is, of course, the whole half of the room devoted to the November rash of sightings and aftermath; the other half is piecemeal – some history, some cryptids, possibly even something about ghosts. The biggest visual draw is the huge map of the area, with Willow River at the center (and a smaller map of the town, beside it): these maps hang on the wall in front and to the left of the hallway that continues into the back. There are flags stuck into the large-scale map – at least three dozen – and another couple dozen stuck into the town map.  As they enter and Xiaolian calls out, there's a huge crash from one of the back rooms, which is quickly followed by a shout.

Xiaolian jumps at the crash. “ _Ryan?!_ ” She takes off running towards the sound, having been here often enough that she sort of knows the layout of the back rooms.

James follows Xiaolian, wanting to help but also afraid of getting lost.

Luckily, the house isn't all that big, and Xiaolian has no trouble finding Ryan: he was in the storage room, a bedroom he's converted into tightly packed shelving with boxes upon boxes of papers and ... anything else you can fit in a box. As she skids into the doorway, followed by James, she sees Ryan on the floor between the shelving units, a couple of boxes on top of him, their contents spilling out across him and the floor. It looks like mostly papers – newspaper clippings, old photos, maps.

He groans. "Fucking _ow_." He shifts, trying to get himself out from under the papers in this tiny little space. He's of average height – no, really – and, even under all the stuff, James can see he's buff as hell. Olive-skinned, short dark hair, round face. His glasses have fallen off and are on the bottom shelf at his elbow.

"Are you okay?" James waits a moment before reaching down to help get some papers off of Ryan.

"...Yeah, I think I'm fine, just got the wind knocked out of me." Ryan shoves some papers off himself and scoots backwards, sitting up and creating a waterfall of clippings. "Ugh. I hate filing." He grabs a box and begins putting things back into it.

James starts helping Ryan put the papers back in the box. "Oh, I love filing. I find it very calming and it's good to get everything organized."

Xiaolian, too, squats and helps to clean up.

"Tell me your secrets," Ryan says, continuing to re-box. "I always end up seeing something I didn't notice before, and before I realize it I'm in my work room with everything spread out on the table."

"Well, that's also a good thing about filing and organizing. You find things you didn't know existed."

Xiaolian can't help but make sure Ryan is okay so she starts scanning over him to make sure he didn’t hurt himself to badly. “If you don’t kill yourself by accident one of these days, I’m going to kill you for giving me a heart attack so often.”

Ryan laughs, and his smile is soft. "Aw, Xiaolian, you're sweet. I know, I'm clumsy, but I'm fine. No harm done. It'd be great to have more room for the files, but this place doesn't bring in that kind of cash yet." They've cleared enough for him to stand, and he does so, grabbing one of the boxes. "That's true, stranger. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name in my unfortunate tumble into my papers."

He puts the box under his arm, on his hip, James gets a good look at his thoroughly toned arm flexing to hold the heavy box, and Ryan extends the other hand to shake. "I'm Ryan Bergara, professional weirdo, sub-par amateur detective and ghost hunter."

Xiaolian makes a mental note start another savings account labeled ‘Ryan’s place’. She hears Ryan and can’t help but nudge James. “And siren.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Siren? What are you spouting now?"

James takes Ryan's muscular hand and shakes it. He laughs a little at Xiaolian's joke. "My name is James Finn. I'm here to learn about aliens, Mr. Expert."

“I made him promise to not hassle you,” Xiaolian says.

Ryan raises both eyebrows. "A fellow believer?"

"I'm not a... total believer. But I like to think they are out there." James doesn't want to crush Ryan's hopes for fear of the handsome man's sadness, and his beautiful friend's anger.

Xiaolian stares at James’s face, waiting for that signature ‘god his arms and face’ look people usually get when they meet Ryan for the first time. She can’t help but laugh to herself when she finally catches it.

"That's good enough for me," Ryan says. "Let's get out of this stuffy little room that wants to kill me. Let me just put this box down..." He ushers them out of the storage room, and leads them first to his workroom – the other bedroom, which is filled with a large boardroom table, an older model of photocopier, and a sideboard full of office supplies. The walls are covered in bulletin boards and whiteboards. It's ... _covered_ in papers. And pins, and strings. There's Sharpie on _everything_ , and numerous empty cups of coffee and takeout boxes emblazoned with both the M&D logo, and another logo.  He places the box on the table. "What do you want to know?"

Xiaolian moves from standing next to James to go over to the map of the town, playing her little game of how quickly she can find all her usual hangouts.

James looks around the walls. The covered walls and papers littered with notes reminds him of a bittersweet time best left to the past. James touches the necklace around his neck. He dismisses his thoughts and returns to the present. "This is... a lot of work."

Xiaolian can't help but chirp a quick, “Ryan’s a lot of work.”

Ryan blushes a little as James says this. "Ah, it's just ... just what I do." Then Xiaolian pipes up, and he laughs. "You know it, kiddo."

James is a little overwhelmed by the amount of information around him. "Well, I was gonna say everything but that might be a lot."

Ryan's definitely blushing now, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, we might be here a while if you wanna know _everything_. Might have to order pizza. And, um, well, a lot of what I have is just collected information, I don't know what it all means yet, but it's gotta mean _something_ , y'know?" He's not meeting James' eyes, and beginning to stutter a bit. He is most definitely not used to someone appreciating the amount of work he puts into the center.

"Well, looks like I'll be here for a while." James looks at Ryan, ready for him to start explaining his extensive research.

Ryan is staring, slightly agape, at James. "Uh," he says, and blinks. "...Where do you want me to start?"

"Well I think the beginning would make the most sense but you can start wherever you want." James moves to sit down at the table, pulling out his journal. "Is it okay if I take notes?"

"God, the _beginning_?" He laughs. "What even _is_ the beginning? Oh man." He thinks for a second. "Well, you came here to Willow River for a reason, and that's probably the crux of it. November?" He turns to the wall behind him, starting to pace a little, looking over the pictures. After a pause, he looks back over his shoulder and says, "Oh, of course you can take notes, I don't mind at all."

Xiaolian checks the time and sucks in a quick breath. She throws her arms out to stop what she knows will be the longest fucking speech ever. “Wait! Before you start, I need to give you what I came for and then head back to the cafe before I get in trouble.”

Ryan looks over at her. "Uh, okay, sure Xiaolian, what is it?"

Xiaolian holds out the bag. “Adam and Andrew let me try and make my own thing for the cafe. It’s kind of a spin on a dàn tǎ. I wanted you to try it and let me know what you think before I bring it before the council of foodies.” She waits for him to take it before she gives him a quick, tight hug. She heads to the exit, waving bye. “Bolin said he’ll text you about coming over for dinner! Bye Ryan, Bye James! It was really nice to meet you. Remember, listen to a siren for too long and you’ll end up dead!” She gives a quick grin before breaking into a run back to the cafe.

"Goodbye Xiaolian. I can't make any promises. " James smiles at her as she leaves, then turns his attention back to Ryan.

"Uh, bye Xiaolian, still not sure why you keep calling me a siren, thanks!" He puts the bag on the table, pulls out the box, and opens it to find fresh egg tarts. He grins. "Aw, sweet!" He grabs one, and offers James the box. "Want one?"

"Yeah, thanks." James reaches over the table to grab one, lean muscles flexing under his dark skin has he returns to this seat. Making sure to keep any crumbs from falling on his journal.

If Ryan's eyes linger over James' arm for just a second, well ... no, surely it must be James' imagination.

James finishes off the pastry, and looks up to make eye contact with Ryan licks off the remaining residue off of his fingers.

Ryan blinks, then clears his throat slightly as he finishes his own tart. "Uh, so, anyway," he says, "damn, those are good. Um. November." He heads over to a part of the wall with another map of Willow River and the surrounding area. "Do you know anything about what happened in November? Or is this all new to you?"

"I haven't heard anything about the possible alien intervention in this town. I'm basically a blank slate with all this stuff."

Ryan exhales a long breath. "Okay." He unpins a picture and slides it across the table to James.

"That's the clearest image we've got," he says. "I've got a half-dozen similar images. Beams of light, no discernable source.  That's where it started, anyway."

"Wow, that's unique to say the least." James takes the image and starts making a quick sketch of it in his book.

"Yeah. I'd never seen anything like it before, which is why I immediately hit the road to come check it out." He shakes his head. "There were a few dozen of those sightings, mainly in the forest, but eventually they moved to the skies. Still beams of light, not like meteors or lightning. Like spotlights, but again, no source.

"In mid-December, they started moving. Did I mention that? The first lights were immobile. Fixed lines of light. Usually on clear nights, but there were a few overcast nights too. One witness swore up and down they saw it during the day, but they didn't get a picture, so I have no proof."

James takes notes as Ryan talks, under a new heading in his book, Alien Occurrences.  "Do you know where these sightings were? Like, specific location wise?"

"Most of them, yes. Some of the locations are more vague than others, depending on how closely the person could track their location." He motions at the map, where there are multiple colours of flags pinned into it.

"The moving lights, in mid-December, would streak across the sky for a few seconds, then disappear. Honestly, these are the ones I find the most suspect. The Air Force claims they were doing test flights, and I'd believe it."

James gets up from the table and walks over to the map. He quickly makes a simple map in his book and plots the basic locations of the sightings.

"But, they happened in a similar area, over a similar timeframe, and had similar enough aspects that I couldn't not note them down."

"Test flights that are only visible for a few seconds... suspect."

"Certainly," Ryan nods. "But, closer to the realm of known fact. Could be a new lighting system, for instance."

James looks to Ryan over his shoulder, "So mysterious lights, that advanced in their ability over time, and a government explanation that has some significant holes. And you think aliens are the cause?"

"I think it's definitely a possibility, based on some of the things that have happened here in the past. I'd be willing to accept abduction as the answer to a couple of the missing persons cases around here – the ones that aren't as clear cut. Some are obviously sickos, and some are just tragic accidents. But ... " He bites his lip, and shakes his head. "People are missing time. They don't like to talk about it much, but it's happened, on and off, throughout the history of the town. More so, recently."

"Do you know any specific cases? Or is it more of a general effect?"  James is like, very fucking into this. Research is his favorite part of his job and he wants to document every unexplainable event in every town he visits.

"There are a few specific accounts in old diaries and things like that," he replies, "and ... well, a few stories I've heard firsthand that I'd want permission to share. There's also the weird prevalence of _fires_ around here. This town has lost more buildings to fire than any town I know." He huffs. "I don't think _that's_ aliens, but I'm not sure what that is yet. I'm still trying to make respectful inroads with the First Nations communities in the area, to ask about their oral histories and mythologies.”

"Yes, First Nations oral stories could shed some light on this..." James mumbles to himself as he is bent over his journal.

"That being said," he continues, moving towards another section of wall, "when it comes to the most recent occurrences ... the lights calmed down and stopped over the New Year, but then more weird shit started showing up." He taps a photo. "Or rather, _not_ showing up."

James looks up, shocked. "W-What didn't show up?"

Ryan sighs. "I don't think anyone but me has noticed this, and I'm not even sure I'm convinced yet. It could be animals. It was a really cold winter. But ... I have a _feeling_ about it, you know?"

James sits back in his chair, running his hands through his hair which is something that he can probably do with his hairstyle. "Animals disappearing." He pauses for a second, racking his brain, going through the signs of every monster he know of. "Have you found any bodies? Or just a lack of animals?"

Ryan turns and looks at him. "How's your stomach, James?"

"Pretty good, but your statement frightens me."

Ryan grimaces and unpins an envelope from the board, tossing it over to him. "Take a look. Gathering the earlier photos, from January and into February, was a pain in the ass. Animal control doesn't digitize their photos quickly ... but once I started pulling pics from the RCMP, it's been a breeze."

James flawlessly catches the envelope out of the air. He opens it.

_ [Content warning for descriptions of body parts/body horror.] _

It's full of printed pictures – many in grayscale, but not all. They're in chronological order, with the date marked at the top. The first dozen pictures are of bits of small animals ... what might be a cat's tail, a dog's paw, the head of a raccoon.

Mid-January, fewer pictures, only six or so, of larger animals, or, well, halves of larger animals ... a stray and emaciated dog, missing its legs and head; the upper half of a bobcat.

The first half of February yields three photos: a deer, clearly hit by a vehicle, but missing its front legs and half of its torso; a wolf, split down the middle, its internal organs missing; and a bald eagle, plucked clean, the lower half gone.

There are only two photos from mid-February to the present, and both are human. One is of a man, probably homeless, missing half of both a leg and an arm, with large chunks torn out of his back. The other is of a young woman, curled up on the ground, missing a leg and half an arm, more chunks out of her torso, and most of her face just gone. The date on this final photo is 2020-04-02.

_ [Graphic content complete.] _

James looks at each photo before setting them face down on the table. He writes basic descriptions of each photo before setting his pen down and rubbing his eyes. "Wow. This is... this is serious. Whatever this is... it's hurting humans now." James has almost forgot that Ryan doesn't, or at least to James's knowledge, about the monsters that plague the Earth.

"It is indeed." Ryan sounds serious, and sad now.

"Is there any link between the lights and... this? " James motions to the photos.

Ryan comes over to the table, sits down across from James, and leans his elbows on the table, rubbing his temples. "Those all look like something _eating_ , especially on the bigger ones. The coroner's report on the first man confirmed bite marks, too. I don't know for sure if there's a link. The timelines segue into each other very smoothly, but ... I would have expected cattle mutilation at roughly the same _time_ as the lights, not afterwards.  Whatever it is, it's escalating, and it's moving. It started in roughly the same area as most of the lights, and has been moving steadily north-west."

"So whatever is happening here, is moving and maybe... _eating_ its way through this town."

"And the surrounding area."

Ryan's phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out, looks at it, then looks at James. "Sorry, give me a second. I gotta answer this." He clicks to answer the call, and puts the phone to his ear. "Hey Cece. ... Yeah. ... Ah, _fuck_." He sighs deeply. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know. What's the official word? ...God, really? This time of year? ... Yeah, I know, what're they gonna do. Okay. D'you still want to ... " He glances up, as if remembering James is still there. "Dinner tonight? ... Great. See you then." He hangs up. "Sorry."

James smiles, "Busy night? I'm sorry for dropping in and asking for," he looks down at his now filled book pages, "a lot of information with no warning."

Ryan puts his phone back in his pocket. "Oh, it's no problem. I'm happy to talk. Most people think this is all just for a laugh." He leans back in his chair. "And that was just Cece. She was confirming the autopsy report on the new victim. Sure enough: plenty of bite marks. Luckily, the doc thinks she was probably dead of hypothermia before whatever our perp is got her."

"That's a... relief in some ways." While James can't say this out loud, he writes a few theories of his own into his notes. The text says 'Signs of eating animal and human corpses, possible zombie infected person(s)'.

"Tell me about it," Ryan replies. "The world is a fucked-up place, man."

 _You have no idea,_ James thinks to himself. "You said it."

"Well, I'm gonna head out. Thank you for all this information, even if it did get rather grim." James quickly rips out a page of his journal and scribbles his phone number on it. "Here's my number, call me if you find anything new or remember any important information." James gathered his belongings and made his way out of the building.

Ryan waves as James heads out. "Will do. Glad to have someone in town on my side, as it were."

The rest of the day passes without incident. The RCMP clear out late in the afternoon, and life in Willow River returns to its sleepy state.

* * *

Cassandra Wojtek is heading to the general store and post office, where the de facto leader of the town, James "Banjo" McClintock, holds council.  Cassandra has a backpack hanging from her shoulder, and shades on. She’s been in Willow River before, although at the time she didn’t have all the opportunities in the world to get to know this town inside out. She pushes the door open and peeks inside.

The store has the feel of an old mom-and-pop general store: old wooden shelves stuffed with goods, things sitting on barrels, handwritten chalkboard signs with prices. And unlike many nouveau-hipster coffee joints, you just _know_ that this place is a hundred percent legit. The counter at the back is where Banjo sits, feet up on the solid wood slab, chair tilted back on two legs, unlit pipe between his teeth.

Spotting the man in the back, Cassandra makes her way towards the counter, taking off her glasses (which had been pretty useless up until this point anyway but hey, protect your eyes, kids) and smiling. “Mr McClintock, I believe?”

The deeply tanned, wrinkled face looks up to meet hers, bright blue eyes watching her curiously. He takes the pipe out of his mouth, puts his feet down on the floor, and smiles. "Good afternoon-- Ms Wojtek, wasn't it? You came through town ... last December?"

“Oh, you remembered!” Cassandra’s smile grows into a surprised one, and she offers him a hand. “Good afternoon, yes, we met last December when I first came into town. I’m back for a quick follow-up for my research, and would love to ask you a couple of questions, if you have the time.”

He stands, and shakes her hand over the counter. "Of course. Happy to help. Here, I have a spare chair if you'd like to sit? And can I offer you something to drink?" He motions off to the side, to a pair of chairs sitting under a sunny window.

Cassandra sits in one of the chairs, pulling her backpack to her lap so she can pick out a yellow pad and a pen. “Nothing to drink, thank you. I just had lunch in town.” She puts her bag down and crosses her legs to prop the pad on her knee. “So, Mr McClintock. We spoke very briefly last time, about your perceptions of the town and of the residents of Willow River during the chaos brought on by those strange sightings...”

He sits down in the chair across from her, puts the pipe back between his teeth, and watches her carefully. "Mm hmm. Rough time. More excitement than most folks here have seen in their whole lives."

“I can imagine. I mean, the town is definitely quieter now. Or it was, until recently,” she says, watching his expression. “I hear there was a terrible incident in the woods yesterday... I’m assuming you’ve heard about that?”

He sighs gently, eyebrows creasing with sorrow. "Yes, of course. I was the one who found the poor girl."

“Oh my God, that’s terrible. I think I remember Ms Norris mentioning your name but it was such a shock I don’t think I quite registered it. I’m sorry. God, what a tragedy,” Cassandra looks lost in thought for a second, then asks. “Off the record, before I get into the questions I’ve actually come to ask, but... Do they know what happened?”

"It wasn't a pretty sight, no," he agrees, frowning. "Looks like she was drunk, passed out near the RV park, and died of exposure - and then something came along and made a meal of her. Doc said it looked like maybe a bobcat or two, hard to tell."

 _Some hungry bobcats, huh,_ Cassandra thinks. “An isolated case, I hope. Poor girl.”

"Certainly isolated," Banjo replies, "not many bodies turning up around here."

Cassandra clears her throat then, and sits up straighter, holding her pen against the pad. “But back to the reason behind my visit, what I’d like to ask you is this: as a leader in the community, do you feel there was any particular change in the townsfolk since November? Meaning, have you witnessed any change in behavior, any new habits picked up after the tourists and the media came crashing in?”

As she asks her question, he watches her attentively, yet exudes a sense of ease. "New habits and behaviours? Hmm." He ponders. "New residents, certainly - a few directly connected, like the Bergara kid, and others who just thought it'd be a nice place to stay. But among us lifers..." He takes hold of his pipe and taps the end against his teeth, thoughtful.

"I think there's about a fifty-fifty split," he says, finally, "between those of us who still keep an eye on the sky and those of us who have just left it to the past. Beyond that, not much. I suspect yesterday's unfortunate occurrence will hang more heavily for some time - keep the kids a little closer to home, everybody’ll go over their wilderness safety training as has it, that sort of thing."

“I see.” Cassandra writes down a few notes, scribbling and not looking up when she says, “Not unusual in cases like this. And one more question.” She underlines something twice and looks up to meet his eyes again. “Those who still keep an eye on the sky, can you think of what are they waiting, or hoping, for?”

He hums, still staring at her. "That's a very good question. I can't say as I know for other folks, but for me..." He smiles. "The lights were quite the sight - I wouldn't want to miss them, if they happened again."

Cassandra hesitates only briefly. She looks down at her notes then back at Banjo. "You don't fear whatever it was that caused them?"

He shrugs. "Me? No. There are many lights in the sky, all awe-inspiring, few worth being afraid of. You wouldn't be afraid of the northern lights, now would you?"

After a few pleasantries, Cassandra says goodbye to Banjo and heads down the road further into town, to the Willow River Paranormal Information Center - an unassuming house which was only a house when Cassandra was here last. According to the sign on the wall, it's open for business. There doesn't seem to be anyone else around.  Unsure if she should just barge in, Cassandra knocks on the door and tries turning the knob. Surprised to find it unlocked, she opens just a smidge, and calls out, “Hello?”

There's a moment of quiet, then what might be a shuffling of papers, and a responding "Come on in!" The voice is friendly and male.

Cassandra walks in, careful to leave the door open behind her as she looks around for the source of the voice.

The front room of the house, which seems to be about half of the main floor, is set up much like a museum: there are display cases, information plaques, a rack of pamphlets, and even a little booth with a touchscreen and headphones, which seems to be powered down at the moment. The main exhibit is, of course, the whole half of the room devoted to the November rash of sightings and their aftermath; the other half is piecemeal - some history, some cryptids, possibly even something about ghosts. The biggest visual draw is the huge map of the area, with Willow River at the center (and a smaller map of the town, beside it): these maps hang on the wall in front and to the left of the hallway that continues into the back. There are flags stuck into the large-scale map - at least three dozen - and another couple dozen stuck into the town map.

The source of the voice is not visible as Cassandra enters, but after a few seconds, he appears: an olive-skinned man with short dark hair, of average height and slightly Asian descent (perhaps also Mexican? it's hard to tell), wearing glasses, a t-shirt that does nothing to conceal how fit he is (which is very), dark blue jeans, and expensive-looking sneakers.  He smiles. "Welcome to the Willow River Paranormal Information Center. I'm Ryan Bergara. Can I help you find anything?"

For a moment, Cassandra‘s attention is drawn towards the huge map of Willow River and the surrounding area; she tries to read some of the locations marked with flags, but she’s not close enough for that. She turns to the man and smiles, offering her hand. “Hi, Cassandra Wojtek. I was here in December, I came on your ghost hunt, but this-- when did all this--” she makes a vague gesture encompassing the room-- “happen? It wasn’t here in December, was it?”

"That’s _right_ , you did come along on that eventful night!  I’d forgotten.  And no, it wasn’t all done then, not quite. I opened officially on January 15 - in December, I was still deep in research and preparation.  I hosted a few events, but not much more than that."

“Oh, I see. Well, this is certainly gonna come in handy. In my research, I mean,” she adds hastily. “I’m a sociologist. Based in the University of British Columbia. I don’t think I had the chance to talk to you about it, back in December, what with everything that happened.  I was wondering if you had a few minutes to spare, and if you’d be willing to answer a couple of questions?” She looks around one more time. She’s not trying to hide her interest in quite literally everything there.

He grins, and it’s an absolute beam of sunlight. "Of course! I'm happy to talk about what I've found. Not sure what a sociologist would want with little ol' me and my notes, but ask away!"

“Well, it’s more with the town and the behavior of the townsfolk in face of the unexpected...” Cassandra lets herself wander closer to the map. She points to it, turning to Ryan to ask, “Can I ask what the flags are marking?”

"Oh," he says, following her over, "I gotcha. For sure." He points to the loose cluster of white flags to the south-east of town. "Those are, more or less, the locations of the lights in the sky that showed up starting in November."

“I see. Wow, this would’ve been helpful last time I was here,” she flashes him a grin, then looks back at the map. “Really helpful…”  Snapping back to the here and now, Cassandra turns to Ryan, and pulls out her pen and yellow pad from the bag. “Do you get a lot of locals coming through?”

He leans back against a bit of bare wall and crosses his arms. "On occasion, mostly to add something they saw to the map. Some of them are just curious about what I've found. It's pretty quiet, like most of the town."

Cassandra writes it down, nodding along as Ryan says it. “Was that your opinion of the town when you got here as well? Quiet people, quiet town?”

"Mm," he says, tilting his head back and forth, "quiet town, but really interesting people. It's never a dull moment."

“Interesting? How so?” She studies his face.

He looks out into the distance over Cassandra's shoulder, thoughtful. "Well...I dunno. Big personalities?"

Cassandra raises her eyebrows. She wants to press him further, but figures it’s a dead end. “Okay. Okay, good.” She writes it down, but it looks idiotic at best on the paper, so she looks up again. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re a believer. Maybe even more of a believer than I am,” she says, smiling kindly. “So have you read the rumors milling around online? Rumors about Willow River, I mean.”

He looks back at her, a little startled, and laughs. " _Read_ them? Do you know the username ‘windhunter’, by any chance?"

“Wait.” Cassandra stares at him, surprised. “ _You_ ’ _re_ windhunter? That’s insane, how—? Wait. If you’re living here and if you posted that things are pointing towards another - maybe several - incidents happening in the near future... Does that mean you have actual, factual evidence backing up those claims?”

He sort of half-grins, amused. " _Evidence_ of _future_ occurrences? That's ... not possible. Do I see one hell of a pattern, though? You bet I do."

“Touché,” Cassandra chuckles. “So, ‘windhunter’... where does the body found in the woods fit within your pattern?” Her tone is definite enough to make it clear what the implication is. _I know this wasn’t an animal attack_ is just beneath the surface.

His face drops into a sad frown, but his eyes flash briefly with steel. "I'm not sure yet, not definitively - we haven't had any concurrent cattle mutilations or anything in that vein. Also, the autopsy report hasn't been released to the public, so I'm short on potentially useful information... I'm hoping to have a better idea in the next week or two. It's still a very new incident."

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out and looks at the caller ID, then up at Cassandra. "Excuse me a moment - I need to take this." He nods at her, steps away, and answers the call. "Hey Shane. ... Mm hmm, she called me yesterday. It's Grand Central Station, eh? I know ... yeah, I'll get everything together. Do you still have my SD card or-- ... oh, okay, then I know where it is. Alright. See you later." He ends the call and puts the phone back in his pocket, coming back over to Cassandra. "Sorry about that. Did you have any other questions?"

"No, actually, that was all incredibly helpful. Thank you very much, Mr Bergara," Cassandra smiles warmly, putting her things away and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back for a tour, definitely. Have a nice day!"

He smiles. "Any time!"

* * *

It's dusk. Owen has spent the day looking for water. Luckily, the RV park was deserted most of the day, so he chanced sneaking to one of the potable taps for a drink and was not spotted. He is now wandering in the woods, as is his wont, when he hears calm, quiet footsteps approaching. Sounds like two people.

When he hears the footsteps, Owen freezes for a second, before cautiously moving away, trying to be quiet and hidden. He slips behind a large tree, and waits a couple minutes before two people come into view, neither of whom he recognizes: a tall person in a long beige coat and hat, and a shorter, darker-skinned person wearing a zippered jacket and jeans. The shorter person is holding a large flashlight, and they are conversing quietly. They are _just_ far enough away that Owen can't hear them.

Owen tries to be as quiet as possible, still watching the pair. As he waits, they come into earshot.

"You're sure?" the shorter person asks. A man. His voice is gentle, but serious.

"Certain. I managed to get the sergeant to keep it out of the official report, but the bite marks were definitely human," the tall person replies. A woman.

"Goddammit. So a zombie, then." The man shakes his head, shifts his grip on his flashlight and lifts it to his shoulder. He turns it on, and shines it around in the forest.

"Or perhaps a ghoul," says the woman. "It didn't always eat the brains. Could also be a wendigo." Her hands are in her pockets.

"Do they come this far north?" the man asks, still scanning the area.

"These aren't their usual hunting grounds, but with climate change, who can say?" The woman shrugs. "The blood spots led this direction. See anything yet?"

"No," the man grouses. "Wish we had Holly. She always seems to get lucky finding things."

"With all the new people in town, we have to be subtle," the woman reminds him, "we can barely afford two of us going on the hunt."

"I know, I know." He huffs.

 _Oh, no_. Owen thinks back to the ghoul he had encountered before. It has probably been terrorizing the town... He makes a split-second decision and runs away.

Upon hearing him run, the man and woman instantly break into pursuit. The man runs directly towards the sound – and then sight – of Owen running, while the woman takes off at an angle to flank. The man is _fast_ , clearly an athlete, and the woman is no slowpoke either, though she lopes whereas the man sprints.

Owen keeps running, trying to keep out of range.

The man is hot on his tail. Owen vaguely hears the woman shout, "Be careful, Ryan! Ghouls and zombies don't run – it might be a wendigo!"

After a few seconds, Owen feels his stamina running out. He pushes himself, and gets a few seconds more, but then he's falling, his legs just giving out on him – and he feels the man tackle him as he falls, spinning him around. They land on the forest floor, Owen on his back, the man pinning him down, a cold blade pressed to his throat. They stare at each other for a few seconds, both breathing hard, as the woman catches up.

There are tears in Owen's eyes, and he looks terrified. "It wasn't me, I swear. I didn't hurt anyone." He breathes out, voice shaking.

The man staring into his eyes blinks, then squints at him. "...You're not a wendigo."

The woman, standing next to them, crosses her arms. "Hitchhiker? You don't look good, kid. You gonna run if Ryan lets you up?"

Owen looks over at her with wide eyes, before shaking his head. "No! No, I won't run away." He says, even though every cell in his body wanted to run away.

Ryan and the woman trade glances. She nods slowly, and Ryan removes the blade from Owen's throat, stands up slowly, and offers him a hand up. "What's your name, kid? And why are you out in the woods?" he asks.

"M-my name’s Owen," he says softly, ignoring the second part of the question. He also ignores Ryan's hand, pushing himself up off the ground on his own.

"Owen," Ryan repeats, not taking his eyes off him. "Nice to meet you. Sorry for the rude welcome."

The woman clears her throat, and Ryan glances at her. "Yes ... unfortunately, it's really not safe to be in the woods right now, so I think we'll have to take you into town for the night. You look like you could use a good meal."

Ryan hums in agreement. "And a hot shower."

"Uh... No, thanks." He backs up a step. "I don't want to do that."

Both Ryan's and the woman's eyes turn to steel. The woman speaks first. "I'm afraid—"

Ryan cuts her off. "Do you have a home to return to? Like, not a spot in the woods where you've slept recently, but a real actual home with a roof and a bed where you'll be safe?"

"...yes?" Owen says meekly, though it was obvious he was lying.

Owen gets the feeling that even if he were better at lying, Ryan still would have known. "Sorry, kid, but you're coming with us. It is most definitely not safe out here."

Owen looks _very_ stressed. "Please don't make me," he says softly.

Ryan looks quite unhappy; the woman just looks unimpressed and tired.  "Why don't you want to come into town?" Ryan asks, softly. "Warm bed, hot food, friendly faces. Are you in trouble, Owen? Are you running from someone?"

" _No,_ " he says, voice strained. He looks away. "I don't like... people."

The woman huffs, exasperated, and steps in, taking Owen by the upper arm. "Antisocial or not, kid, you're coming with us."

Ryan's brow is deeply furrowed. "Cece," he says, "you don't have to hurt him."

Cece – short for something, maybe? – looks over at Ryan. "If he had a legitimate reason for staying out in the woods – and boy would I love to hear that! – then maybe I'd consider letting him have some agency here. But for right now, he's a kid, he's in danger, and he is keeping us from doing our job which may also be _endangering other people_ as a result. We do not have _time_ for this." She looks back at Owen. "You're coming with us into town. I don't give a shit whether you're awake for the trip in or not. Your choice."  She holds out her other hand, and Ryan hesitantly relinquishes the heavy flashlight.

Owen lets out a soft whimper. "Please let me go. I'll come with you, I promise." He tries to pull his arm away.

Ryan makes half a move to reach out to Owen, but stops himself. "Cecilia..." he says, softly. "He's just a kid. A scared kid."

Cecilia grunts, and lets go of Owen's arm. "One chance. You try to run and I'm knocking you out. We clear?"

Owen moves closer to Ryan, but doesn't touch him. He looks over at Cecilia, scared. "Just don't hurt me."

"No promises," she says, almost a growl. She points ahead with the flashlight. "Ryan, take point. It's getting late and we've sure as hell lost the element of surprise if we've attracted whatever's out here. Kid, you follow him. I am right behind you, so don't try any shit."

Owen just nods, trying not to cry again. He sticks close to Ryan's back.

They march him into town. Thank God he ate last night, or he'd be damn near going out of his mind. They walk him down the main road, straight up to the door of a large, three-storey house with a long Chinese dragon emblazoned over the door and a sign reading "Spirit of the Lake". Cecilia hands Ryan the flashlight, glares daggers at Owen to keep him in one place, and rings the doorbell.

A moment passes, then another. Then, a light-haired man with stubble across his jaw and piercing eyes, wearing a deep green dressing-gown, opens the door. "Good evening Ryan, Cecilia," he says. His voice is an acerbic baritone. "I assume I owe this evening visit to the appearance of this Dickensian waif?"

Owen hides behind Ryan, looking around him at the other man.

Cecilia nods. "Andrew, Owen. Owen, Andrew. We found him in the woods and he isn't keen on being in town, but given recent events obviously we couldn't let him stay there."

Andrew looks Owen over. His face is unreadable. "Of course not. We've got a spare room. And plenty of leftovers in—" Another man suddenly comes up behind Andrew: a ginger-haired, round-faced man with thick-rimmed glasses, wearing chef's whites. Ryan full-on jumps; Cecilia startles slightly; Andrew barely flinches. "Hello, Adam," he says.

"God, you scare me every time you do that, Adam, Jesus Christ," Cecilia says. Ryan snorts.  Adam shrugs, and Andrew smirks slightly.

Owen looks at the now two men, then back at Cecilia. He definitely trusted them more then he trusted her, and as long as they didn't try to make him eat, he could sneak away as soon as nobody was paying attention. "...Hi."

"Come on in," Adam says. His voice is like the softest fern leaves in the gentlest breeze. "I don't know what you were running from, but you'll be safe here." Owen is soothed despite his fears.

Andrew holds the door open a little wider. "C'mon in, kid. What do you like to eat? You a cookie kind of guy? We make kick-ass sugar cookies."

"Um, I'm not hungry. It's okay," Owen says, going over to Adam.

"Alright, that's chill," Andrew says. He turns to Ryan and Cecilia. "We've got him from here. Thanks. You guys out looking for you-know-what?"

"Mm hmm. Got interrupted, unfortunately," Cecilia says.

Ryan jumps in. "I wanna talk to Owen tomorrow, once he's had a chance to rest and get cleaned up. He might have seen something, he did say he didn't hurt anyone."

Andrew nods. "I'll text you."  Then the door is closed, and Andrew locks it behind him. Owen hears Ryan and Cecilia's footsteps leaving the porch, and then he's alone with Adam and Andrew.

Adam looks at Owen and smiles gently. "Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?"

"I'm okay. You don't need take care of me or anything, really." Owen looks up at Adam. He definitely trusts him more than most people, but he still isn't thrilled about the situation.

"Kid, you were out in the woods for God knows how long, you're skinnier than Shane, and you look like you've never seen a shower in your life." Andrew seems quite set on calling Owen 'kid'. "You look damn near feral. I dunno what you're running from, and I don't blame you in the slightest for being afraid of Tinsley, but you're safe here."

"I'm fine, really," Owen insists. "You don't need to worry or anything."

Andrew's face is still unreadable, but Owen senses he hasn't convinced him. Nonetheless, the man with the piercing gaze looks up at his friend, who nods. "Your room's this way, Owen," Adam says, and Owen feels the warmth of his voice spread like sunshine through his mind.

Adam walks into the house, up to the top floor, and pulls a keycard from his pocket, with which he opens a door. Inside is a room decorated with dark browns and warm oranges and reds – a double bed, a nightstand, a small dresser, a small desk, all in dark wood; a single gable window; an armchair and a small bookcase, which is filled with books. Adam reaches in and flicks the lamp on beside the bed; the room becomes even warmer. There are two other doors inside the room – one a closet and one a bathroom, presumably.

"Here you are," he says. "If you want to hop in the shower, I can take your clothes down and wash them, and bring you a spare set of ... " He looks at Owen, then over Owen's shoulder. "Do you think Steven's clothes would fit him?" Owen realizes that Andrew is behind him, despite his not having heard the man walking with them up the stairs.

Andrew looks Owen over. "Closer than either mine or yours."

Owen doesn't think he's ever slept somewhere this comfortable. Or ever actually used a shower. Was he allowed to ask for help with that? "I uh... Can you show me how to use it?"

Adam pauses for a second, then smiles. "Sure."

Andrew smiles. "Modern showers, eh? They're like spaceships." He looks at Adam. "I'll go get him some clothes while you help him out, okay?" Adam nods, Andrew leaves and shuts the door.

Adam motions towards one of the doors. "After you, Owen."

Owen goes through the door, looking around. This was also nicer then any bathroom he'd been in…though he hadn't actually been in very many.

The bathroom floor and backsplashes were tiled, in little square glass tiles of cool teals and blues. The lower half of the wall was painted in a light tan. The furnishings were white and gleaming, the shower curtain a rich sunset gradient. It looked for all the world like a beach in the Caribbean: there were even little seashells on the edge of the sink.

Adam came in beside him, and pulled back the shower curtain. "This one controls the hot water," he said, pointing to a tap, "and this one's the cold." Other tap. "Pull this little lever to change it from bath to shower." Another point. "There's little soaps and stuff in the basket there, and towels on the racks." He smiled over at Owen. "Toss your clothes out the door and I'll bring them down to the laundry. You good to go?"

Owen nods. "Yeah, I think so," he says, giving Adam an almost-smile.

"Cool." Still smiling, he heads out of the bathroom to give Owen some privacy, and is soon out of sight. Owen doesn't hear the door open or close, though, so Adam is waiting in the bedroom to take Owen's clothes down.

Owen strips out of the very worn out clothes he's wearing, tossing them towards Adam and messing with the shower until it gets to a comfortable temperature, getting in and letting the water wash over him. He doesn't use any of the soap, not liking the smell, and not knowing what to do with it. But he stays in the shower until the water goes cold, turning it off once it gets to that point. He grabs one of the towels from where Adam had showed him, pressing his face against it. Soft.

"You done in there?" comes a voice from the bedroom. Andrew, not Adam.  "There's a robe hung on the door for you, and I have clothes out here," he says. "Steven sent up a few options, you can pick what you like."

Owen grabs the robe, wrapping himself up in it and smiling softly. He doesn't remember ever being this comfortable. He comes out of the bathroom, looking up at Andrew. "...Thank you."

Andrew is perched on the edge of the bed, still wearing his own robe (similar to the one Owen has, but Owen's is a deep blue), with a small pile of neatly folded clothes next to him. He looks up as Owen enters. "Of course," he says, without a trace of expression on his face – not displeased, but just as if this is the most natural thing in the world. "Come pick some clothes. Adam..." He glanced at the door. "Adam's going to attempt to salvage what you were wearing, but it's in rough shape. How long have you been homeless, kid?"

Owen just shrugs, hoping he could get out before being asked too many questions. "Who's Steven?" He asks, touching the clothes.

"Steven's my friend, and Adam's too; he owns the bed and breakfast," Andrew replies. "He's way skinnier than we are, so his clothes have a hope in hell of fitting you." He's looking at Owen curiously. "You're not much for answering questions, are you?"

Owen looks over at Andrew. "That's another question," he says, before picking an outfit at random. It was just a pair of dark joggers and a t-shirt.

"Hm. So it is. One more, that I'd really like an answer to...are you planning to sneak out as soon as my back is turned?"

Owen looks defeated. "Please let me go... I _need_ to leave." Eating the night before had given him maybe another week, but he'd still need to eat more eventually.

Andrew tilts his head and looks straight at Owen, holding his gaze inexorably with his piercing eyes – the colour of which Owen just can't pin down. When he speaks, Owen somehow feels deeply compelled to do what he says. "Owen, I need you to do three things for me: first, you are going to stay here tonight, in this bed, until either myself or Adam comes to get you for breakfast; second, you are going to come with me tomorrow to talk to a friend of mine; third, you are going to tell me how long you've been homeless."

Owen nods at Andrew. "Okay," he says softly. Looking down, away from Andrew. "I don't know how long I've been homeless. A long time. Most of my life?"

Andrew frowns. "Why?"

"It's... complicated."

"Alright, that's fair," he replies. "I'll let you sleep. Tomorrow, we're buddies, okay? You and I. Adam too, if you want. I know being around him calms people down, and you seem like you could use some of that."

He stands up, and moves to the door. "Do you have a preference for who comes to wake you up in the morning?"

Adam, definitely— but Owen shrugs. "No, I don't care.”

Andrew leans on the door frame and just kinda looks at him.  "...If you say so, kid." He turns and opens the door. "See you in the morning." He pauses, just for a moment, to see if Owen wants to say anything else.

Owen doesn't, just climbs up into the bed, hugging the pillow.

Andrew closes the door behind him.  The night passes. Owen falls asleep in minutes, despite being determined to stay up and enjoy the incredibly comfortable bed with the fluffiest pillows and softest blankets he's ever felt.


End file.
